La canzone della Bella Cigna
by philadelphic
Summary: A famous voice teacher. A mysterious piano prodigy. Backstabbing classmates. Music school is competitive, and aspiring singer Bella Swan is determined to succeed. Hard work she can handle, but who expected music school to be dangerous? A story in 3 acts
1. This was so not in the brochure

_**La canzone della Bella Cigna**_

Summary: A famous voice teacher. A mysterious piano prodigy. Backstabbing classmates. Music school is competitive, and aspiring singer Bella Swan is determined to succeed. Hard work she can handle, but who expected music school to be so dangerous?

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I may own a pitch pipe.**

**~oЖo~**

**_Dr. Emil George_**

**_Professor of Voice_**

I'm standing outside the door of the world-famous tenor, trying to control the shaking in my knees, but they are wobbling so hard that my stocking begin to fall.

_Stupid thigh-highs._

Stupid me- I knew I was going to feel vulnerable today so I took advice from a silly magazine and wore some racy lingerie in order to feel powerful. Silly Bella. _And now we're talking about ourselves in third person, great._

My morning had been rough. My first day of my first semester at the conservatory, and I make a total jackass out of myself.

My first class, Music Theory, had been a confusing disaster. Judging from the conversations going on before class started, it seemed like I was one of the only singers in a class full of instrumentalists. The professor, an intimidating older man, had the whole class singing rapid-fire scales on the note names according to some pattern called "The Circle of Fifths." I knew what a scale was, and note names, and could even read music a little, but my scales had always been sung on Do Re Mi, or just "Ahh". While the rest of the class seemed to know exactly what to do, I felt completely unprepared.

Unprepared on the first day. How can you be chapters behind in the first lesson of Beginning Music Theory? Apparently, all it takes is being a voice major.

I had approached the Professor after the lecture was over, sure there was some scheduling error.

"Excuse me," I said with what I thought was polite determination. "I know that this Syllabus says 'Freshman Theory' but isn't there a level down? I feel like I'm already behind."

Dr. Coppa looked at me over the rim of his glasses. His wild white hair was in disarray.

"What's your instrument?" he sighed, clearly annoyed.

"I'm a voice major," seemed to be a more respectful answer than 'my voice, and why do you ask it that way?'

"Of course you are," he replied, even more annoyed. "Just do your work, and you'll be fine."

He breezed out of the classroom, leaving me stranded. I was devastated. I'd been third in my graduating high school class at home in Forks. I've always been an A student. Suddenly I'm a moron and everyone knows it as soon as I say I'm a singer?

Beginning Group Piano class wasn't much better, but I at least could figure out how to study for that. I wasn't so clueless about musical notation as to not have a general idea about what I was supposed to do. I was even able to follow along for the first half of class. After that I just tried to play softly enough so that the other twenty four pianos in the class wouldn't clash too much with the wrong sounds coming out of mine. I wish that they had told us to find a piano teacher and cram like hell over the summer, but all I did was ride bikes with Jake. Jake, who is still in high school, and suffering the boring kind of hell, not the scary kind. I wished we could trade places.

Now I'm anxiously hesitating at my Voice Professor's door, trying to calm the shell-shock. _Well, they can't treat you like a moron here. Anyone who comes in here is a voice major. _

I knock, and wait.

"Come," a highly resonant tenor voice calls from the other side of the door.

On the other side of said door is the reason I wanted to study at this conservatory: Dr. Emil George. One of the most famous tenors in the world, now retired for close to fifteen years. The last time I had seen him was at my audition. He had smiled at me after my art song, but not too much. He seemed more interested after my aria, and had asked me questions about the text, nodding in approval when I answered correctly. He had written something down, and I started to have a glimmer of hope.

Looking at him now, in his luxurious office of Persian rugs, opera memorabilia and highly polished wood, I'm torn between feeling intimidated and just excited to be here. There are pictures of him all over the walls: in costume, with other famous singers, with world leaders. Even though he's sung at the Metropolitan Opera house, La Scala, and most of the famous opera houses in the world at one time or another, he seems like a real person, but a real person you don't ever want to disappoint. He's serious, and seems kind, but not gullible.

When I had requested him as my voice teacher on the conservatory application form, I didn't expect him to choose me. He was one of the two most sought-after voice professors on faculty, and only took on a fraction of the students who requested him. I'm not sure why he chose me over some of the other students who sound just as good, if not better, but if was knowing the text, as I suspect, I prepare to work extra hard so he won't regret his decision.

He holds up an MP3 recorder.

"Get one of these," he says, letting me hold it for a second before taking it back. "You'll be recording every lesson and every practice session. I'll send you an email containing today's recording, but I expect you to bring your own from now on."

He hands me a syllabus, with a short list of books and the music I need to have. Among the selections are:

_**24 Italian Songs and Arias**__, medium/high voice, _check. Everyone who's ever taken classical voice lessons has this one. It's the beginner book.

_**Schubert Lieder, vol. 1**__. Ed. Peters, sopran oder tenor. _ Thank Google I don't have to ask. I've never studied German before, but according to my orientation packet, I'll need to before graduation. I'll have to take Italian, too, but thankfully I have all the French I need.

There are other books on the list, but those are the ones I need for the first month, according to the syllabus. I'll be learning the same songs as the other Freshmen in Dr. George's studio.

There's another page, with a long list of rules for staying in Dr. George's good graces. They include getting eight hours of sleep per night, avoiding weight gain, dressing up for performances and lessons, and other things I wasn't sure were any of his business.

"How well can you play the piano?" he inquires.

"Not much. I thought I could play a little by ear," I apologize, "but I'm afraid today's first piano class was something of a rude awakening."

"Do you have a job?" he peers at me seriously over his glasses, and it feels he's looking right through me.

"No, but I was planning on getting one to supplement financial aid."

"I don't recommend it," he shakes his head. "It's sink or swim time, little girl."

He sits at the piano and starts to play some relatively rapid scales. I realize just in time he means for me to sing, and I take a deep breath and find myself keeping up, much to my relief. This is the first time today I haven't felt completely inadequate. We go through some other vocal exercises, some of which I already know and some I've never heard before.

"Not bad," he says, writing in a binder. "I'm going to level with you right now, because it's the right time to do it. I took you on as a student because you have a very good instrument, and when I say that I mean your voice. You had a good GPA in High School and placed out of all the general undergraduate requirements for music majors. Now for the part you don't want to hear: in High School, music was easy. You memorized a solo and a few songs with your choir every semester, won a couple of medals, and everyone told you how talented you are. But your parents weren't musicians, and you have no idea what's expected of you. So you need to get serious, do anything we tell you to do, and get tutors to catch up where you're behind. Some other voice teachers will accept sloppy musicians as voice students, but I'm not one of them. Fair warning."

He stands, walks over to me and folds his arms in front of his body, not entirely unlike Yul Brenner in _The King and I_.

"You understand?" he commands. "Slack off and you'll find that there are more sopranos than there are people in the world, and every time you compete for a role you'll be up against most of them."

I nod, a little terrified.

"Good. In the future, the pianist I have assigned to you for lessons and practices will come at the thirty minute mark, after we have finished our scales and arpeggios. Today, he'll just come in for a minute so you'll recognize him the next time you see him. Edward is in the doctoral program, and he's a musical genius, but he's about your age. He's easy on the eyes, but very hard to impress. Don't slack off and you'll learn a lot about music just by watching him in action."

He keeps on talking, and a moment later we're interrupted by a brisk knock on the door.

"Come," intones Dr. George.

The door opens a little and my knees start wobbling again. I hadn't noticed that they'd stopped until the hose start inching down again.

_Easy on the eyes, my ass._ This guy... he's beautiful, like a work of art. Well, the part I can see of him, anyway.

He stands halfway in the door, this breathtakingly pretty guy who does seem to be my own age, if not a bit younger, but tall and really serious. He seems barely old enough to be in college, let alone a doctoral student. Then I remember he's a prodigy, so he's probably just as young as he looks. At first he looks like he might come in, but he never gets further in the door than head and shoulders before he narrows his eyes at me and scowls at Dr. George.

"Bella Swan, this is Edward Cullen. You'll be working with him."

Edward stares at me with that same gimlet eye I got from Dr. George. Just when I think I can't take any more scrutiny, he turns his head.

"Sorry, Dr. George, I need to run. Standard operating procedures for Freshmen, right?" Edward asks, glaring from me to Dr. George and back again, like elves are playing some kind of invisible tennis game in front of our faces. _Maybe he's a genius **and **__he's nuts_.

I look down at my shoes. The only good thing about today is that I wore a really long skirt, and it's probably not noticeable that my hose are down around my ankles from all the knee wobbling. My face is pretty hot, too, but when I look up, the door is closed, and he's gone. I start to calm down.

"Yeah, he's kind of moody," Dr. George observes with a Gallic shrug. "But he's the best. And _you_ need the best. Look, I'm glad you're scared right now. You should be intimidated. But here's what I want you to do. Go to a practice room, do your work, and think about what you really want. Make up your mind, and then don't be scared again. You can be angry, or frustrated, or sometimes stressed out, but once you make that decision, tell fear to go to hell where it came from. Fear is a liar and it has no place in my studio."

This guy gives good drill sergeant. I nod again, and square my shoulders, wishing my mouth weren't as dry as Arizona.

"Good. Now let's look at your assignment for next week. I think _Per la gloria d'adorarvi, _Giovanni Bononcini…should work for now. You need to work on flexibility."

Between music theory and voice, I'm wondering if my coursework will require me to read more than a few words in English.

Sink or swim. I'm going to need some floaties.

**A/N: **

**_Per la gloria d'adorarvi: _(Italian), means "For the glory of adoring."**

**Thanks to Eccentric Shadow, You can find a playlist for music for this story here: www(DOT)mixpod(DOT)com/playlist/60658611**


	2. Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum

**Ch. 2- Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum **

**AN: I'm a musician, but this Bella is really unlike me. I used my own situational history for writing Angela's part, but it's a tiny walk-on. This is me scratching an itch I've had since I first read Twilight. Edward is supposed to be a classical pianist and composer in canon, and I thought I'd play with the music school setting since I've been through it. I'm trying to keep the music stuff informative without being pedantic. Let me know how that comes across.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Chapter Music (on youtube)**

**Debussy: Dr. Gradus ad parnassum: /watch?v=ZQMOpgjPDQo**

**Schubert: Stä****ndchen: /watch?v=H2hlsVYEXqc&feature=related**

**A Fine Frenzy: Whisper: /watch?v=rCZblN6pBqA&feature=related**

**A Fine Frenzy: The minnow and the Trout:** **/watch?v=z2_3feh6O4A**

"_It's sink or swim time, little girl."_

I'm thinking of getting that as tattoo. It should be backwards, and on my forehead, so that any time I look in the mirror I will remind myself of my remaining options. I settle for writing it on my bathroom mirror instead, and hope that Felicia, my in-name-only roommate doesn't mind. She really shouldn't, because so far it looks like the existence of her boyfriend's efficiency apartment is giving me some welcome and unexpected privacy. It's Friday afternoon and I've officially made it through the first week. While most of my dorm seems to have plans to go off somewhere getting drunk and plastered, I'm having what my Grandma Swan used to call a "Come to Jesus" talk with myself.

"Isabella Marie Swan," I start in, narrowing my eyes at the kid in the mirror.

_Oh shit, she means business. _

If I look hard enough, I can definitely see Grandma Swan's eyes looking back at me.

"Dr. George gave it to you straight, because you've been hammering away for a week at all of your classes, and you're sitting on a big pile of half-ass fail."

Grandma might not have used those words exactly, but they were still true. Had he not scared the bejesus out of me in my first lesson, I might be able to ignore the fact that my whole world has changed and I need to adjust, quickly. I've been approaching my theory homework like a drunk chimpanzee with a typewriter and a deadline. My piano practice has mostly consisted of five minutes of work and twenty minutes of me playing my favorite indie songs.

"He was absolutely right about not knowing what was expected of you. You _do_ realize that up till now, what you've been doing is dabbling in music, right?"

"No way! I worked my ass off for State Solo and Ensemble competition!" I argue back, like a mental patient.

_Okay, arguing back might not be most mentally healthy thing you can do here, _I say, getting back into it. It's not my fault Charlie and Renee weren't very good at the tough love I so desperately need..

"As good as singing feels, it's never been a real challenge to you, and what drew you to it is the same thing that draws you in to just about anything- that secret pulse of complexity, and you know it's not going to come easy. You knew there was a big gap between where you were and where you want to be. It feels exactly like the time you thought three years of high school French was going to prepare you for a summer in France, right? Now you've got some idea of the kind of discipline this is going to take."

"Swan, not chicken." _I hope._

Spooky Pep Talk over, I'm back online looking for a theory tutor, like Dr. George told me to get. After making a few phone calls, I find this really nice sounding graduate student in musicology named Jasper Whitlock. I tell him exactly what my deal is, and he gets it immediately. He just got married, and although his parents are both musicians, his wife is the first musician in her family. Like me, she had a really rough first year in undergrad. I grab my book bag and go to meet them both at a coffee shop for the first time.

"If I hadn't been so lost, we might have never started dating," Alice tells me, smiling into her cup as she shakes out her loose tea strainer. "It's a good thing Jasper was so good at music theory, otherwise I might not have had the guts to ask him for his number."

She's really pretty, especially when Jasper's looking at her.

Jasper joins us with his coffee and a brownie as she's talking, and I notice his mouth curling sweetly into a little smile as he overhears our conversation.

"I definitely wanted to ask for yours, Angel," he says kissing her forehead, "ever since I saw you busking at the bus stop like a gypsy kid."

"I was not busking!" she laughs, blushing. "I was just practicing until the bus came. It's not my fault people threw money in my violin case."

Alice is a violinist, who learned to play almost entirely on her own, by ear. Like me, she'd only known enough of the basics of reading music to pass her audition, and had soon found herself failing theory, music history and piano all in the first semester.

"It was the mid-terms that killed me," she confides. "I knew I was having a hard time in Freshman Theory, but I thought I was doing okay in Music History until I got blind-sided with the drop the needle test. Then my hero here stepped in to rescue me and the rest is history."

"The drop the what?" my hand jerks as I'm about to take a sip and I spill coffee on my blouse.

"Don't worry, girl. I'll help you study for that, no charge," Alice hands me a wad of napkins without laughing at me and leans in. "You know that list of music selections you got in your Music History 101 class?"

I pull it out and look at it. There's a page full of Baroque instrumental pieces with library call numbers I'm supposed to listen to for the mid-term exam. I recognize about one-third of the composers.

"Now, don't freak out, okay?" she says, patting my hand. "That's about 30 hours of music there. What will happen is they'll play ten seconds of something, and you have to write down the composer, title and date of each piece."

"Will it be the first ten seconds of the piece?" I ask hopefully. This is going to be tough with no lyrics to hold onto.

"No, not usually," she grimaces, "but don't worry. I figured out some great tricks for studying. I'll show you and we can go over some of it together. I've got to take qualifying exams over all this stuff, and some of it I never really mastered the first time."

While Alice works on her laptop, Jasper and I go over my first week's worth of theory homework. I can't believe how easy it is with just a little bit of clarification. I had misread a diagram in the first few pages of the chapter, and it messed me up for anything after that. Fortunately, Jasper is intuitive enough to figure out where my frustrations were.

"Always do your theory homework sitting at a piano if I'm not with you to help," he advises while Alice nodds vigorously in agreement. "That's what got Alice over the hurdle faster than anything. It helps you use your intuition. Plus, you'll start to hear sheet music in your head just by looking at it after a few months of doing that consistently."

I really like both of them. We agree on a fee and regular time for tutoring. Alice and I make plans to study together in the Fine Arts Library. I suspect that she is helping me more than just studying with me, but I can't say no to her. I make a mental note to bring them some baked goods as I watch her steal a bit of his brownie and laugh at him when he pretends to mind.

I'm still not sure where I'm going to bake, but quality folks like Alice and Jasper definitely won't be getting store-bought cookies from me. Maybe the dorm rules will allow an easy-bake oven. Maybe I won't manage to set the dorm on fire.

I check my email one more time before going to bed. One email from Renee, to which I reply immediately:

_Hi Mom,_

_Remember when you said that college was going to be all reading and no homework except essays? Apparently that doesn't even remotely apply to music majors. Plus nothing is in English except for my music history textbook, and even that has a ton of unfamiliar vocabulary. _

_Thanks again for the ipod for my early birthday present. I bet you thought it was for entertainment purposes only? It actually is helping me study and spend a little less time at the library. That was such a good call. Thanks Mom!_

_Yes, I will be happy to learn Ave Maria for you. I think the one you want is Schubert. Let me know if the link doesn't work and I'll sing it for you over the phone._

_Love,_

_Bella_

_PS. You don't still happen to have my easy bake oven from when I was little, do you?_

I'm about to log off, when I notice another email. This one is from that crazy pianist, Edward Cullen.

_Hello Bella,_

_I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to talk earlier this week. I'm not sure if Dr. George explained it to you, but we should also schedule one half-hour of practice time per week. Weekends would be best for me, if you don't mind. If that doesn't work we can figure something else out. I have access to the main recital hall, and will be using it for most of the afternoon, so we can meet there if that is convenient for you. _

_Please call me at your convenience to set up a time. If I'm practicing I won't pick up, but feel free to leave a message._

_Regards,_

_Edward Cullen_

The note includes his phone number, and I think about calling him right away. I toy with my phone a little, but put it back down. If I think about how beautiful and scary he is and I'm afraid I'll get flustered, so email seems much better. Even if he does write like Miss Manners.

_Hi Edward,_

_Weekends are fine for me too. How about tomorrow afternoon? When would be the best time for you? I've got lots to do but no set schedule, so I can work around you. _

_Thanks,_

_B_

He replies almost immediately, while I'm synching my ipod with my computer. I've made play lists of all the music I'm studying. Edward's emails are insanely formal, but I just add it to the growing list of mad genius attributes. We settle on four in the afternoon to meet and I pack my pepper spray just in case, remembering how he glared at me before.

I turn to my new favorite Bronte sister to help me get to sleep. When I was in High School I was all about Cathy and Heathcliff. I don't know why, but the tragedy of it all made it seem more intense. Maybe now I think the intensity might work better with a happier ending. I smile at cranky, dark Edward Rochester as he accuses mousy Jane of being a supernatural creature and freaking out his horse.

~oЖo~

On Saturday I notice the practice rooms are crowded with little kids and the more serious conservatory students. The Grandma Swan Within sees this as a good sign, and nudges me on as I practice singing and playing scales. At one point I'm actually yelling at my fingers, especially the ring fingers on each hand.

"Hey now, weak sisters! You need to step up your game. What does it matter if the rest of the digits are cooperative when you make us sound like clumsy monkies?"

I'm spending so much time alone that there's no need to be embarrassed about the imaginary Grandma Swan I have in my head, lovingly kicking my ass all the time.

"Those other serious students will understand," she says, winking at me from the mirror. "I'll bet I'm not the only grandma in action around here."

That of course makes me think of Edward and his hilariously formal email style. Maybe his grandma is responsible for his correspondence. I wonder if he does full salutations in text messages as well.

It's early, but I go looking for the recital hall. I'm wondering why he gets access to it when I hear the unmistakable sounds of a pipe organ playing the Bach _Toccata and Fugue in D minor _and realize it must be Edward. I follow the vampire music and eventually find an open door to the hall. I realize I've found my way into the balcony level of the audience area, and as quiet as I can I watch him play as well as hear it. The organ is nearly on the same level as the balcony, but all the way across the recital hall from me.

His back is to me, and I can see most of his face in the mirror that the organist would use to watch the conductor during a concert. Clearly, it isn't adjusted for his height, or I wouldn't be getting this view. He looks calm, and he's in some kind of zone. I've seen this before with figure skaters during the Olympics, and videos of famous dancers like Nureyev and athletes like Michael Jordan.

All of the colors in the recital hall fade except for anything inside the golden halo of Edward and the organ keys as he moves his hands and feet over them, stopping to pull a knob here and there, or hit a switch. His body moves gracefully, and I hear what I am seeing wash around me in powerful waves of vibration. I'm a bit stunned as the piece ends, and I realize that I only have a few minutes to find a better way in before he notices me. I stumble as I stand, and find his eyes locked on mine in the mirror. He doesn't seem surprised to see me.

"I didn't want to interrupt," I say lamely and probably too softly for him to hear.

"There's a door to your right, just behind that curtain," he says calmly. "Use those stairs, it's faster."

When I come down, he's abandoned the organ for the Steinway grand piano on the stage.

He doesn't seem angry today. He's still in his trance and I don't want to change that because if I thought he was pretty to look at before, he's glorious to watch at a keyboard.

I offer him my music book, but he just glances at the page, and starts to play my piece from memory. I find myself singing, even though all I want to do is look at him and bask in my insignificance. Before too long he notices a mistake.

"No, you're holding that note too long. It's just a quarter note, see? And you keep coming in late for the return," he mentions calmly, demonstrating my line on the piano.

I'm really embarrassed and I make a little note in my sheet music, but he doesn't seem upset at all. He's not really glaring at me, but a couple of times I see him looking at me as if he's trying to figure something out.

Thirty minutes pass and I feel frustrated, but I don't know why.

"See you Monday," I say, feeling defeated. I turn towards the exit and start walking.

"Bye, Bella," I hear his soft voice and it feels almost like a pat on the shoulder.

~oЖo~

"Bella, what was that?" Dr. George hisses, approximately two inches away from my face. "Do it again, but this time breathe in for the highest note you're going to sing, and connect the bottom with the top."

I breathe in, thinking about the top note, and start to sing. He's looking at me expectantly until he starts shaking his head again, and shoves the hated hand mirror in my face. Again.

"Why do you show me fangs? No fangs! Relax the lip, relax the forehead, cheeks up! Who wants to look at a growling dog when they could be looking at a pretty girl. Again!"

It's my third voice lesson and I'm getting really frustrated. My second lesson was okay, but not great. Dr. George had seemed surprised that I had my song nearly memorized, and he gave me two more pieces to work on. Edward had come in halfway through the lesson, but this time he didn't glare until Dr. George opened the window. I don't think Edward liked that much, because he barely spoke another word or looked at either one of us until the lesson was over. He played beautifully, though. Dr. George was focused on the growing list of things that I had no idea I was doing wrong. There are so many ways to fuck up singing, and I learn this every time I take a breath or make a noise.

This time Edward seems calmer, and I think I see a little smile playing on one corner of his sculpted lips. I feel hot tears begin to prickle in my eyes and I begin again, determined not to let them see me cry. I keep trying to do the new Scarlatti piece and it's just getting worse and worse, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to hold back much longer. I start to panic and I look at Edward. He notices and suddenly he looks alarmed. He stops playing.

"Go refill your water," Dr. George suddenly says calmly, "walk around the floor once, take a big drink and a big breath and come back. Don't sweat it, relax. You're doing fine."

I do as he says and start to breathe again the second I'm out of the studio. A couple of tears escape but I'm able to calm down before I even get to the bathroom.

"Just singing a song about a violet," I tell myself.

As I come back, Dr. George is asking Edward to play for several master classes, and he agrees. Neither one of them look at me like anything unusual just happened, and I'm grateful they're ignoring my near-meltdown.

~oЖo~

Four weeks in, and I'm finally settling into my routine. Thanks to Jasper and Alice, I've gone from sudden moron singer syndrome to hardworking B student. It sticks in my craw, but I remember how tiny Forks is, and that compared to how I felt on the first day of school, a B feels pretty good. It's just a guess, because we haven't had our mid-terms yet. I feel lucky that Alice has befriended me. She's only four years older than I am, but her studious attitude is rubbing off on me, and I think it's helping.

The other voice majors are more outgoing than I am. Sometimes I sit with them, before or after mandatory choir rehearsals, but I'm a little put off by the constant one-upmanship I see going on between them. The graduate opera students generally sing much better and act far worse. They always look glamorous and are frequently fighting like a bag of cats. I've heard some of these insane bitches (I'm including the men here in the word bitches) viciously gossip about each other on every imaginable subject, from their looks to their talent and skill to their trashy affairs. I'm starting to wonder if they even like music at all. Fortunately, there are some notable exceptions, and I'm finding them one by one.

I'm sitting in Music History, using my MP3 recorder to take notes when I notice the girl next to me nodding off a little bit. She's in a couple of my other classes, but has a different voice teacher, so I don't know her name. I elbow her a little bit and she blinks at me blearily.

"Sorry," she whispers, "I work pretty late at night, and it's wearing me down."

"Don't worry about it. You can have a copy of the lecture if you like," I nod at my recorder.

After class we sit at a coffee shop and exchange information.

"I'm Angela," she says. "Thanks for waking me up. I usually have more caffeine in me by this time."

"Where do you work?" I ask, thinking about Dr. George's advice and how far behind I'd be if I had to work nights.

"I wait tables at Keys piano bar and grill," she shrugs. "I get to sing and play the piano for tips sometimes, and the money isn't bad. My husband works there too. You should come sometime- I'll get you in with no cover and you can sing if you want to. Anyone can."

"You're married?" I can't imagine her life, though it reminds me of Alice and Jasper.

"Yeah. Ben and I dated in high school. I know we're young, but we just couldn't wait any longer. And my dad's a minister, so it's not like we were going to live together."

Her life sounds exhausting, but it would be nice to have someone to come home to.

The closest I get to that is when I sneak into the recital hall while Edward is practicing.

~oЖo~

It's become my secret ritual, though I always wonder exactly when he becomes aware of my presence. I slip in the same door I came in the first day, in the balcony, making as little noise as possible. Every week I come a little bit earlier, just to listen to him play. Sometimes he's at the organ, but mostly he's on the grand piano, usually playing Debussy. It's uncanny how often his selection matches my mood perfectly.

Today's selection is a playful piece, and I'm enchanted. I find myself leaning on the balcony railing, my head resting on my arms as I watch in fascination. His fingers sprint in rapid patterns up and down the keyboard. It's so fast I can't even follow it with my eyes, but I'm trying. The piece is over far too soon and he's smiling at me for a change.

"What's that one called?" I ask, encouraged by the smile. "Is it Debussy, like the last two times?"

"Yes. It's called Doctor Gradus ad parnassum, from Children's Corner. Did you like it?" He began to play it again, fingers fluttering over the keys fast as hummingbird wings.

"I always like what you play," I answer truthfully, "This one just seems so sweet and playful."

"Come down and listen closer," he pauses as I gather my things.

I don't hesitate for some reason, and within a moment I'm sitting on the steps leading to the stage a few feet away from him.

"Why do you always sit up there?" he nods at the balcony.

"I don't want to bother you," I confess, "but I like to hear you play."

He frowns for a moment, but his hands begin the playful pattern, this time at a slower pace. Finally inhales, face smoothing as if savoring the moment.

"You don't bother me much. You're so very quiet. I like it," he sounds like he's still making up his mind. "You can come closer. I won't bite."

I laugh, and resolve to be quiet enough for him not to mind my presence. I close my eyes while he plays, to try to shut out his beauty, but the moment I do, it's like I can feel the flutter of his fingers on my skin. As the sound surrounds me, he seems even closer to me than he was when I had my eyes open. When the music stops he is back to his usual, remote self. His eyes are closed and he almost seems to be sleeping for a moment.

"What would you like to start with?" he inquires politely.

And just like that, it's time for us to practice my music. I hate to drag him away from his magical zone of truth and beauty to my pathetic scratching of the surface, but until I can find a faster way to get there, I'll just keep scratching. I just wish he didn't have to witness the fail.

We go through the Italian pieces a couple of times, and I'm still struggling. There's so much technique to remember, and I feel overwhelmed.

"Would you like to go through the new piece? What did he end up giving you?" he asks absently.

"Schubert. _Ständchen, _the one that starts 'Leise flehen meine lieder'. I've listened to some recordings of it, but haven't had time to practice it much," I confess anxiously. "and I just read the translation this morning."

"He assigned that to you? Are you sure it wasn't the Brahms _Ständchen? _That one is fairly standard for Freshmen," his arms are crossed over his chest and he looks a little doubtful.

A month ago I would have been offended. Now I'm just wary, and I grab my recorder out of my bag and cue it up to the end of my last lesson. We hear Edward's soft "Goodbye," a click of the door and some paper rustling, followed by Dr. George's voice.

"Here we go, page 135. You've probably heard this piece before as a violin solo," he starts to play it on the piano, and begins to sing.

"_Leise flehen meine lieder _

_durch die nacht zu dir"_

His voice is achingly beautiful, and the song does sound familiar. I can well imagine it with a violin instead of a singer.

"_My songs fly softly through the night to you._ Pay special attention to the text, Bella. And don't ever try to force this piece. It will take some time, but let it come to you. It's delicate. The song will open for you if you pay attention to the details and follow instruction. I wouldn't give you this song if Edward wasn't playing for you. In the wrong hands, this piece can go too flat or campy. Pay attention to how he plays this part here," listening to the recording, I'm impressed as he continues to sing and play. I'd sell my soul to be able to do that.

Dr. George's version is far smoother, more delicate than some of the recordings I've heard since my lesson. I look at Edward. He seems intensely focused. His hands ghost over the keyboard as he reads the sheet music I've put in front of him. The recording stops and he looks at me.

"Would you like to try it?"

"I'll have to look over your shoulder," I apologize. "This is the first time you didn't already have my music memorized, and I didn't think to make a copy."

He starts to play, emulating Dr. George's technique. I start to sing, but it sounds wrong.

"Try it without the words first," Edward suggests, and I switch to an easier "da de da".

This time it sounds much better, though I can feel the urge to either force the tune or let it go too soft. I imagine as I'm singing a violin bow against strings, and my voice takes on a slightly richer quality. Just as I'm starting to enjoy it, my balance fucks up, vocally and corporally, and my knees buckle. I stop singing, and bury my face in my hand. I know I'm bright red and my heart is beating way too fast.

"You had it there for a second," he says, not unkindly. "That means you can get it if you focus, you know."

I'm not so sure, but I don't want to argue with him. I want him to be right. The song is so heartbreakingly beautiful that I feel like I don't deserve to be singing it. It's so easy to mess up. His words are a tiny little flame of hope. I don't think Edward would lie about music.

So I just nod, and smile as much as I can manage. He's staring at me again, and my breath hitches. We're too close, and my vision starts to get a little hazy.

His cell phone rings and we both jump a little.

"Excuse me," he murmurs, and picks it up, turning his back to me.

My time is up, so I start to leave quietly. As I go, I'm surprised to hear him speak in extremely rapid French. It's only marginally beyond what I picked up in my four years of High School French plus one summer abroad, but I understand enough of what he's saying to send my stomach flying straight into my throat.

"Oui, d'accord, je t'aime aussi. Gros bisous." _Yes, okay, I love you too. Big kisses._

This is when the meaning of the word _crush_ hits me with the force of a cartoon one ton weight. Little birdies and stars dance around my head, the birdies singing "not for you" and I run away like the dumb kid I am.

~oЖo~

I'm sitting in the review session for the first big mid-term in Music History. Right now it looks like all my future kids will be named either Alice or Jasper, because we're getting our first practice run of the evil "drop the needle" portion of the test, and most of my classmates look a little shell-shocked. I've got this shit down and I'm starting to feel like an A student for the first time since High School.

Angela looks sick, like she's really going to panic. On our way out of the lecture hall she starts to hyperventilate, so I steer her over to a bench in the hall.

"Come on, put your head between your knees. Just breathe, it's not that bad," I'm patting her back awkwardly.

"Not that bad? Bella, I'm going to fail this test! Every time he played something I recognized it, I could hear it, I could even hum the next part, but at best I only knew the composer! Half the exam is Drop the Needle and the other half is just as bad. I've only got two days to study for this and write an English paper, plus I've got a night shift tonight and I really need the cash. Fuck! I'm going to lose my scholarship," she wailed.

"Hey, I can help you if you've already listened enough to be able to hum the next parts. Come on, I've got some memory tricks that really work. Write these down and you'll be fine if you go over it just once or twice," I get out my iPod and we each take a bud to listen. "Listen to this Couperin organ piece. It sounds kind of like a stumbling toddler, right?"

I'm showing her some of the tricks that Alice showed me, including a little graph that works as a memory aid.

"I think this could work," Angela sighs, with a smile. "God, thank you!"

"I didn't come up with any of this," I shake my head, "It's all my friend Alice. Her husband tutors me and she warned me about this test."

"Bring them by Keys on Friday- I'll get you in for no cover, and a pitcher of whatever you want on me, seriously. I owe you big time."

"You'd do the same for me," I laugh, but she looks so eager I promise to call and invite them.

She's copying the notes I made with Alice and I feel like someone's watching me. I look behind me, and notice Edward's crazy composer hair just a few feet away as he turns and walks in the opposite direction.

There's no way he was looking at me. I keep watching him, and he turns again, eyes finding mine immediately. His expression looks softer than I've ever seen it, and he walks backwards a couple of steps before he shakes his head and turns one last time, disappearing around the corner.

~oЖo~

On Friday night, Alice, Jasper and I are sitting at one of Angela's tables at Keys. It's a nicer place than I thought it was going to be, pretty casual but no smoking, which is good because hanging out in smoky bars is a big one on Dr. G's no-no list. Minors are allowed in, but get a different colored wristband, and I recognize some people from the conservatory getting up to jam or just play the piano. Some people are playing indie music, jazz, or blues. Some are playing their own stuff, I think, but for the most part the music is low key and not the kind I've been immersed in for the past six weeks. I'm drinking hot tea while they split a pitcher of beer.

"What's wrong, Bella?" Jasper asks. He's got his arms wrapped around Alice, who is sitting in his lap. They're in Extremely Cute Couple mode, swaying a bit and playing with each other's hands.

"I was just thinking," I say, realizing what's been bothering me, "that listening to music like this is like kind of like running into an old friend from high school. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret what I'm studying, but last year I wouldn't have thought twice about getting on that piano to play something just for fun or to express my mood. Now, I'm thinking about breathing and Schubert and my lip being too tense and my head being in the wrong place. I still love it, I just don't… enjoy it like I used to. I miss that."

They get really serious, and look at each other. They seem to have one of those silent conversations for a second, and Alice turns to me.

"When did you decide to study voice, Bella?" she asks, eyes big and deep.

"Uh, well, I'd been taking lessons for a few years, ever since my choir teacher started giving me solos," I recall. "But it was really when my Mom took me to the Seattle opera for the first time two years ago. She came for a visit and came to a choir concert when I had a solo. Then she surprised me by buying opera tickets. I told her I hated opera and she told me it was different when you saw it live. It was Aida."

"So she was right?"

"God- I had no idea. From the second those people opened their mouths to sing I just knew. I couldn't believe what they could do with their bodies- how they made those amazing sounds, and with no microphones! God, I could feel my bones vibrating whenever the soprano playing Aida sang a high note. And when she and Radames sang their duet, my mom passed me a tissue and I didn't even know I was crying!"

Alice is smiling at me encouragingly, but Jasper looks at me very seriously.

"Bella, you're taking this all very seriously," he starts in his best tutoring voice, "and that's good, because a lot of people slack off and just kind of coast on their natural talent and never really develop it. But don't let your drive to become a really good musician kill your emotions, either. I can't remember who said it, but I think it was Baryshnikov paraphrasing Einstein who said 'Passion without technique is lame. Technique without passion is blind.' There are too many good musicians who burn out because they loose that spark. You know, we've never even heard you sing?"

"That's right!" Alice grins. "Come on, the piano's free. Why don't you just let last year's Bella do her thing and sing her heart out?"

"No way," I say, though I kind of want to. "Nobody wants to hear the mood I'm in right now."

"Come on, Jasper and I want to dance," she wheedles, "And we want you to make the music for it. We'll do a jazz duet after. If I can sing you damn well better do it too, voice major. You could even make some money- they let you take whatever's in the tip jar when you're done. Come on, play a couple of songs. Please? For me?"

I finish my tea and head around the bar and a big rectangular pillar over to the piano, hands shaking a bit. I try to remember what it was like, just a few months ago when I thought music was fun and I didn't think of all the things I was doing wrong. I know exactly what I want to sing, and put my hands on the keyboard to trace the familiar, easy shapes of the simple chords I need. I don't sing it operatically like some people do once they start singing classical music. I relax into the style of the original song, and just let it wash over me, take over. I close my eyes at first, to pretend I'm alone.

_Running the race  
Like a mouse in a cage  
Getting nowhere but I'm trying  
Forging ahead  
But I'm stuck in the bed  
That I made so I'm lying_

_But if you keep real close  
Yeah, you stay real close  
I will reach you_

_I'm down to a whisper  
In a daydream on a hill  
Shut down to a whisper  
Can you hear me still_

I open my eyes and see Alice and Jasper swaying, holding on to each other as I'm singing my heart out, and they're right. I've missed this. I've missed this intense emotional connection to a song I know inside and out. I put everything I've been feeling into it, and wonder if maybe someday I can feel as comfortable with everything I'm trying to learn.

I finish the last verse and more people clap than I expected. I hear someone ask for "The Minnow and the Trout", another song off the same album. I like it too, so I go ahead and start playing it.

At first the song's lyrics about odd couplings reminds me of tall, quiet Jasper and tiny, ebullient Alice, but they look so perfect dancing together my mind wanders and I'm thinking about Edward again. I know there's no way he could ever think of me that way, but I can't stop thinking about that look he gave me in the music building as he was walking away.

_Yeah, but he walked away._

I finish the song and feel happy for having made the effort, but still a little sad because of my stupid crush. The tip jar tells me I've made about twenty bucks, which feels like a very welcome addition to my ramen noodle budget.

On the way back to the table I pass the bar, and get stopped by a guy with light brown hair and dimples.

"Hey, that was great! A Fine Frenzy, right?" he looks more like the frat type than the indie type, but I don't want to be rude, and he guessed right.

"Yeah, thanks!" I smile, shrugging.

"I mean it, you're really amazing. I could never do that!" he yells a little too loud for the noise level in the bar. I smell beer on his breath as he leans in.

"Thanks," I say, angling to move around him and head back to my table.

"I'm Tyler," he says, shaking my hand in an awkward maneuver. It's awkward because I didn't offer it to be shaken, and I'm just kind of staring at my hand, which is surrounded by his big ham hand. I'm still wondering how it got there and why he won't give it back.

He doesn't take the hint and keeps asking me questions. I'm trying to be polite without seeming too interested when I hear the piano again. From where I'm standing, I can't see who's playing, mostly because it's gotten really crowded in the bar, but it sounds beautiful. I don't recognize the song.

I'm ignoring Tyler now because he doesn't seem to need my participation to have a conversation anyway. I'm listening to the music, and it's breaking my heart. It's lush and lyric and complex and it's drawing me in. Some of it starts to sound familiar, and it takes me a few moments to recognize the chord progression of the song I just finished singing, but layered under a somewhat different melody. It's definitely a variation. I manage to release my hand as Tyler grabs another beer. I'm trying to get around the corner of the pillar, back to the piano, but bodies are pressing against me in a rush for drinks.

The song shifts again, and goes into another key altogether. This time it takes me a little longer, but I can hear a jazzy version of the Schubert song I was just assigned. It's still riding that wicked knife edge between delicate longing and powerful seduction- the balance that in all the recordings I've listened to so far, I've only heard from Dr. George and Edward.

Edward.

I know he's the one playing. I manage to wriggle out of the crowd, but the song finishes before I can get near the piano. When I get there, I see Jasper and Alice sitting at the bench, discussing what song they're going to do.

God, I'm an idiot. And obsessed.

"That was an amazing song, guys," I say, shaking my head. "Was that all improvised? I thought I heard parts of the Schubert serenade in there."

Alice has probably played it before on her violin. It all makes sense for them to have done it.

Jasper shakes his head at me, looking intrigued.

"Oh, yeah, that was the Schubert, but it wasn't us," Alice explains. "You just missed it. Edward Cullen was playing. Do you know him? He never talks to anybody, but I hear he's a genius."

"Yeah, and he was watching you play the whole time," Jasper stage whispers with a wink. "He was looking at you like you were something to eat."

~oЖo~

**AN- Let me know if you want some links to some of this music on the youtubes. I put a link to an example of the Schubert piece on my profile, because it really is difficult to do well, in my opinion. **


	3. In which Mama Renee speaks her mind

**Ch. 3- In which Mama Renee speaks her mind to bolster her ugly duckling.**

**A/N: I had something completely different planned out for this chapter. The planned chapter's got some lovely (I hope) imagery and plenty of other things that will definitely happen, but Mama Renee just kind of interrupted and decided to take over an awkward realization. Because that's what Mama Renee does better than anyone else. So you get a shorter chapter a bit early, and I hope now that she's had her say, the longer chappie will cooperate a little better….**

**I don't own Twilight. **

~oЖo~

The next day I wake up to two persistent sensations: the first is the sound of my phone ringing and the second is the unsettling feeling that I had just been dreaming of Edward Cullen. In spite of not being quite awake enough to speak coherently, I answer the phone.

"Bella, are you awake? Oh no, did I forget the time difference again? I'm sorry Sweetie, you're three hours behind me, aren't you?"

"Renee?"

"Or Mom, you can call me Mom."

"Hi Mom, sorry, I'm just waking up. What's up, are you okay? Everything okay with Phil?" I'm looking at the time.

Seven AM. That makes it Ten in Jacksonville. Early for Renee.

"I'm fine, baby. I've just been getting up early to go running with Phil, and we have so much energy lately, it's great! You should try it!"

"Yeah, you sound really energetic." I'm smiling in spite of myself.

I used to think that my mom was flighty and inconsistent. Now I know that she's flighty and very consistent. It's not so much that she can't stick to anything; it's that she's in love with new beginnings. She gets all excited, like a puppy or a kid. It's sweet.

"Hey, how's that Easybake oven working out? Do you need your old Barbie Dreamhouse too?" she teases, and I laugh.

Renee is the only person who can make me laugh like this. Between Renee and Jake, I've never quite lived up to my full Wednesday Addams potential. Though I can always feel it just dying to come out.

"Very funny, Mom. No, the oven works nicely. And I like it that it's the old model from the sixties. I feel ecofriendly and vintage. And I don't bake any more cookies than necessary to bribe my friends."

"That's good, baby. You know what Dr. George said about avoiding the freshman fifteen. But I want to hear more about these friends. Do you have a lot? Are there boys? Tell me about the boys."

"Yeah, I've made some friends, Mom. There's Angela, she's my age, but she's married and she works nights. She's really nice. Then there's my theory tutor, Jasper, and his wife Alice. They're grad students. Alice is really great. We hang out at the library, studying. Then there's the guy who plays piano for me during my lessons. I don't know if I can call him my friend. Sometimes I listen to him play piano before we practice together. He doesn't seem to mind. He's really good."

"That's some racy college lifestyle you've got going on, Bella. What about Bingo night? You cruising the old folks' home looking for hot widowers?"

"Mom, come on. It's not that sedate. We were all at a piano bar last night," okay, now I'm stretching it, but the last thing I need is for Renee to start giving me tips on how to dress all hoochie mama to attract the boys. She'll do it too.

"All of you? That is interesting, sweetheart. What's this guy's name? The pianist who lets you watch him play with himself?"

"What? No, Mom, he plays the piano. What are you say-? Come on! Edward doesn't-" I'm too flustered thinking about this mental image to even get a sentence out.

"Aha, it all comes out in the way you say his name. And I assure you, _Edward_ does. Unless he's married too? Jeez, Bella, how do you find the only middle-aged people on campus?"

"No, Edward isn't married, I don't think. I'm pretty sure he has a French girlfriend, though. I've heard him talking on the phone. It sounds pretty serious." I can't help it that my voice gets a little sad now.

"Does she live in France?" she presses.

Shit. She knows I care now. She's got a thread and she's going to pull until the sweater unravels. Some mothers knit.

"How would I know that?" I don't know how she confuses me this way.

"Bella, are you sure it's a girlfriend? Did you ask him? Come on, I know you like him. I can hear it in your voice. Long distance relationships usually don't work. You should find out what the deal is."

"No, I've heard him a few times speaking really fast in French to someone, and he always says 'I love you' at the end. Plus, you don't know him. He's quiet, I think he's probably the most serious person I know. That includes Charlie. I get the feeling that if he's into someone, it's not a temporary thing. He's all formal and writes emails like he's someone's grandma, and he goes hunting, like almost every day and tells her about it."

"Wait, what? It doesn't add up. Hunting, piano, rapid French."

"Don't forget the grandma emails and vampire music on the organ. Don't say it."

"What, he plays with his organ? Or do you want me to go back to the hunting?"

"Yeah, but there's something weird about that. I can't picture him doing it, killing sweet little woodland creatures. Sometimes I think he's lying just to impress her. Like maybe she really gets off on thinking he's killed a stag or something. He was saying that he goes hunting all the time now, but he's in control," now that I'm explaining it to Renee, it doesn't make a lot of sense. I'm having a hard time imagining his elegant pale hands shooting guns and skinning deer.

"Honey, that sounds kind of kinky," she sounds disturbingly intrigued.

"I don't like the way you say that, Mom." I really, really don't.

"Baby, speaking as your mother, watch out for this one. But as your best friend, I say you need to find out what's going on in that dirty little mind of his. But be safe! As your mother, I mean, be safe. And if I'm right, use safe words too, you know? Do you know what safe words are?" she sounds like she's going to go into full-on Renee vs. Mom fugue state, and I do my Bella best to nip it in the bud.

"I love you Renee, but I'm hanging up now!" I yell, and do so. Tough love. Me and Grandma Swan, kicking it old school.

I head on over to the mirror to pow-wow with G. Swan about Renee's morning mind fuck, and start brushing my teeth.

She kind of has a point though. Not about the safe words and the multitude of mental images I have to block out because the suggestion came from _my mom, thanks Renee. _But maybe she's right about finding out more about Edward. He followed me to the club, I think. And he seemed to be trying to tell me something with his playing, even if he did run off. Everything about him draws me in, but he always seems to be just outside my reach. I don't have all the information I need in order to make assumptions about Edward Cullen.

What had I heard him saying last week? _Je suis obligé de chasser un peu plus souvent, mais je peux me contrôler. Il y a beaucoup de cerfs dans la forêt. _I have to hunt a little more often, but I can control myself. I'm trying to remember what else he said, but I can't remember much. Telling _her_, or whomever it was, that I was there. He didn't even say my name. Just that the singer was there. Well, there's that. He didn't even say my name. I admit, it had stung a little, to be referred to as a generic singer.

I stop, and put down the toothbrush. I give myself the old once-over in the mirror, and set myself straight. I was probably right the first time. Handsome, genius Edward Cullen has a bombshell French girlfriend, and I know exactly what French girlfriends are like. I spent a whole summer watching _them_, redefining the meaning of the word feminine. Flighty, charmingly childlike, and exuberant Renee might be able to compete with a French dominatrix-- or even worse, some exquisitely dainty graceful coquette of a girlfriend. Maybe so, but I'm pretty sure that silent Charlie Swan's mini-me of a daughter would not be able to pull off that maneuver.

He's just my pianist. Of course we'd share an interest in music, but nothing more.

I'm just, what did he call me? _Ma chanteuse._ Just his singer.

~oЖo~

**It's late. PM me if I left in some typos, and I will grant you three wishes.**

**Reviews get a teaser and sex tips from Renee. **


	4. I Saw Eternity the Other Night

**Ch. 4- I Saw Eternity the Other Night**

**A/N: Props to those who guessed this story is not AH. I never said it was! **

**Music links: I highly recommend listening to the Arabesque while reading the first part.**

**Debussy, Arabesque #1:**

**youtube(dot)com/watch?v=GWpV7L4YHuU**

**Bach, Magnificat - 3&4 - Quia respexit - Omnes generationes **

**youtube(dot)com/watch?v=h9309TuH9UM**

**Se tu m'ami:**

**youtube(dot)com/watch?v=PlwD1QmYlG4**

**Disclaimer: It's SMeyer's Twilight.  
**

~oЖo~

I'm pacing anxiously in my practice room, and warming up is not going well. My voice flutters in my throat like a trapped bird, and my heart races. My stomach goes for the hat trick and butterflies erupt into wild flight as I think of sneaking off to the recital hall.

After a while, I decide that it would be more telling if don't go. Plus I really love watching him play. It would be harder to start up again after staying away than just continuing on as usual, so I decide to come as early as last Sunday.

All of my shyness about Edward melts away as I enter the recital hall, quiet as I can. He's playing one of my favorite piano pieces, Debussy's _Arabesque no. 1. _Ever since I was a little girl I've wanted to live inside this music. I can't stop myself- with fiendish delight I take Jane Eyre from my backpack and sneak underneath the piano. I stretch out on my back and let the graceful notes cascade over and around me like a waterfall as Edward's feet press the pedals lightly near my head.

Heaven.

We stay this way for an hour, him playing various pieces and me reading, utterly blissed out to be surrounded by the sounds he makes. From my vantage point I can use my book to hide my face, and sneak peaks at him. I can see his feet, arms and legs of course, and from time to time I get flashes of his face and hands as he lifts them from the keyboard. Once or twice I think I see him smiling through his artist-trance.

And I feel…included. Included in that haze of glorious intensity I've always seen whenever a performer is "on". Sometimes, during a performance, I've even felt it myself. I can't explain it properly, except to quote a poem by Henry Vaughan.

_I saw Eternity the other night,_

_Like a great ring of pure and endless light,_

_All calm, as it was bright;_

_And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,_

_Driv'n by the spheres_

Time seems to intensify somehow, with every moment chasing through my veins faster than blood, and yet every moment perfectly preserved like individual photographs. I've seen it in others countless times- in musicians, dancers and athletes, and sometimes to a lesser extent, in paintings when the artist is absent but the work remains. Sometimes I feel a timeless echo of it when I'm reading something descriptive enough to make the world fade around me and the world of the book become my reality.

I'm beginning think Edward lives in this state of existence. It may be part of why I find him so beautiful. It may also be why he seems so uncomfortable and moody when he's not playing. It must be torture to live in a ring of pure and endless light and then be forced to interact with people on the dim exterior of it. From far away in the balcony, I had only observed Edward in that light. Closer still, as he lured me in, I felt the warm glow reflected on my face. Here, under the piano, I am a guest in his circle. I step into the column of sound and light and I am-

His hands still with the final chord of what I dimly recognize as a Beethoven sonata, and it's time to break the trance.

We practice my pieces, and the glow lingers, fading slightly. Within moments I am aware that my forehead has furrowed, so I relax that. Instantly I am aware of tension in my shoulders, and I try to relax there, as well. Now I realize I've held a note too long and am off beat. I glance apologetically at Edward and we begin again. We pick up a workmanlike pace. In the last few minutes of rehearsal, I feel the glow begin to return, this time through my own efforts. The small smile playing at the corner of his lips stretches into a sly, crooked smile, and his hands go still on the keyboard as the song ends.

We're staring at each other and I think he wants to say something, but his phone rings, and I do my best to disappear before the dreaded "_je t'aime_."

~oЖo~

I'm just getting out of a particularly good choir rehearsal when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I smile when I see who's calling me.

"Jake! Aren't you in school right now?"

"Bells, just needed to hear your voice. I'm in study hall, and the teacher stepped out to smoke. So how's you today?" he sounds like he just heard an ice cream truck on a hot summer day.

"Busy, but I have a few minutes. I just got out of choir rehearsal."

"Sounds like you need a break," he smirks sarcastically.

I choose to ignore that.

"Nah, I'm good. We're working on that gorgeous Bach Magnificat I was telling you about. Did you check out the video link I sent you?"

"Yeah. I'm on my computer now." Jake was marginally open to listening to my attempts to broaden his musical tastes.

"You still have the link? I'll probably mess this up explaining it, so we should just look at it as an experiment, okay?" I say, trying to take some pressure off of him.

I know he wants to understand what I do, even though it's not precisely up his alley, so I really want to explain it right. Jake's like a kid brother. Usually, that is. When he's not trying to impress me and I'm careful not to lead him on.

"I'll have it in just a sec. I bookmarked it on this slow computer." I can hear the whirring of his ancient laptop in the background.

"Ok, now I've got it. I was looking thru the chats, but then I remembered that you emailed the link. I'm ready. Teach me your paleface music appreciation."

I can hear his smirk in his tone of voice, but he did ask me to explain it to him. I think it's sweet that he wants to know why I like classical music, even if he doesn't really get into it.

"Okay, so here's the warm-up exercise. The first half is a soprano solo with instruments playing. That's a cello and an oboe. Listen to that, but try to focus on the instrument and not on the singer. Focusing on the singer is really easy, but focusing on the instrument will be a bit tougher. You'll still hear the singer, but you'll be concentrating on the instrument."

I can hear the recording in the background, and pause to let him listen before I continue.

"It may be helpful to try to memorize the tune the instrument is playing. You'll have to listen a few times. You don't play an instrument, do you?"

"Pots and pans as a little kid, but that's it."

"Noworries. Don't get frustrated if you can't do it the first time. It's a different way to listen."

I hear him sigh with exasperation.

"I lose track of it as soon as the choir jumps in," he confesses, impatient.

"That's normal. Just focus on the first part. Can you describe what you're hearing?"

"It's hard to describe," he says slowly at first. Then he seems to get an idea. "It sounds like it's all coming together like two gangsters who decide to jump someone, and then their buddies (the chorus) see what's going on, and rush to get in on the action."

"I like that, and it's not far off from how it works," I laugh, getting a kick out of his imagery.

"I'm not musical," he complains.

"I always think in metaphors and images. So do a lot of musicians," I argue. "We might be able to get somewhere. So, shall I tell you what's actually happening in the song?"

"Yes, please. I listened to the change a few times, and the whole thing twice last night."

"Okay, so it's religious," I start carefully. Neither Jake nor I grew up religious. "But just focus on it as a story, and suspend disbelief for the sake of the braingasm that is so worth it in the end."

"I also thought of Jesus coming back, and a dam breaking, but I went with gangsters."

I laugh.

"So, I'm going to tell you the story like you don't know it yet." I don't want to insult or embarrass him by assuming either way.

"Sounds good." Jake sounds like he's smiling. He's usually the one to tell me old Quileute legends.

"This is the story about a young girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old, who, according to the legend, is pure of spirit. So this big freakin' scary angel comes to her, and tells her that her whole life is going to be upended so she can give birth to the Chosen One, the Messiah, if she can accept it. Imagine that the soprano solo is this young girl, saying that she's just a kid, and that she's nothing special but if that's what God wants, that's what God gets. And she's scared and bathed in beautiful light but she really wants to please her god. She's terrified, but trying to be good. What she sings is what she's actually saying to the angel. You can imagine that the oboe is playing what she feels, and the cello is playing what she thinks."

"Nice," he says, and I can hear the solo again in the background. "And when the choir kicks in?"

"This is what I imagine for when the choir kicks in," I'm getting excited now, having had this idea in rehearsal just now. "Imagine that the angel really wants to show her how her courage and her gift of unconditional love will change history. So the angel touches her forehead with his hand, and immediately she gets overwhelmed by a vision, the room shifts around her and she can literally see and hear a parade of history-"

"Wow," Jake breathes. I can hear the glorious choral piece going in the background, sounding like cascades.

I can also hear Embry muttering in the background. Then he stops. I roll my eyes, imagining Jake playing classical music in study hall and flipping off anyone who tries to stop him. Some day that obnoxious, sweet kid is going to be chief, I can just tell. They always do whatever he says. It's kind of amazing.

"Centuries and centuries of people singing to her," I continue, ignoring the interruption.

"The text that the choir is singing is in Latin, _omnes__ generationes,_ which means 'all generations'. Imagine two, maybe three thousand years of people who have prayed to Mary- countless mothers, people heartbroken, or filled with the joy of their firstborn."

"That's heavy, and beautiful." Jakes voice is thick. I can tell he's really moved.

"I imagine her getting the full force of this," I smile, happy to have been able to finally translate my enthusiasm to my best friend, "complete with the images of people throughout time, anyone who will ever call her mother and love her and pray to her."

"Hey, wait- is the instrument making the same music as the chorus? Trying to keep an eye on the instrument, you can really get lost in the music. It's like trying to follow someone through a dense crowd." He's got the same tone of voice he usually does when he's talking about engines.

"YES!" I cry, happy. "Good boy."

"Woof," he pants like a dog, laughing at me. "Oh crap, gotta go. Teacher's back."

The phone goes dead before I get a chance to say goodbye and I make a mental note to send him a care package. I miss that kid.

Still high off of choir rehearsal and my chat with Jake, I float over to the library. My smile gets even bigger when I see Alice at our usual spot, twirling a long black lock of hair and staring off into space. She hasn't noticed me yet, so I circle behind her. I stop to fish around in my bag. Alice has expressed a nostalgic love for the more classic partially baked version of the easy-bake oven cakes. She also has a thing for presentation, and I have a thing for her brand of unbridled enthusiasm, so I've wrapped the cake I made for her in purple tissue paper, written her name in gold pen on the outside and tied it with shiny, curling ribbons.

I carefully lower the ridiculousness in front of her unfocused eyes, careful not to let anything besides present get into her line of sight. It looks like it's just floating in front of her face with nobody holding it.

"What is this magic?" she squeaks, a bit loud for a library, and we both giggle like eight-year-olds. No librarians are around, but a few people's heads swivel our way, and I answer her in a hushed whisper.

"That's the craptastic old-school easybake cake you kept mooning over when I brought you perfectly tasty brownies," I explain unnecessarily as she opens the wrapping.

"Mmmguhn," she enthuses as she ducks under the table to eat it.

Is she trying to be inconspicuous?

I shake my head and maneuver my messenger bag strap over my head. I roll out my shoulders and sit down, trying to keep a straight face. Alice keeps moaning and making these sounds like small woodland creatures are being tortured, and I have to lay my head on the table, hiding in my crossed arms to stifle my laughter. I feel a hand on my shaking shoulders and look up to see Jasper standing next to me, looking at me with wide, wicked eyes and a devilish grin.

"Well hello Bella," he faux leers, "I thought I was going to have to kill whoever was causing my wife to make noises that I alone should get to hear. Instead I find myself wishing I had a camera handy. Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

He gives my hand a courtly kiss and sits down beside me, craning his neck down to peek at Alice.

"Hey Gypsy," he drawls, "Cat got your tongue?"

She wiggles her way back up to her seat and blushes. She wipes chocolate from the corners of her mouth and licks her fingers provocatively. Jasper's smile gets even bigger.

"Dangalang, Jasper, you don't even know," she mutters, and I hear the faint southern accent that usually comes out only after her third beer. "Bella just gave me a pleasure I haven't had since the fourth grade."

"Okay, that's… way too pervy even for me to kid about," he laughs softly, cringing.

I dig in my bag again and bring out his favorite caramel pecan brownie, wrapped in plain wax paper. I hand it to him with an angelic smile. His eyes light up and he takes it covetously.

"Will you marry us?" he jokes, winking at Alice.

"Seriously, Bella, marry us and bring your toy oven," she agrees, nodding and clapping like a monkey with a cymbal. Except on her it's not creepy, just sweet and silly.

"Sure, why not? You guys are ridiculously easy to please and I owe you my GPA," I'm still shaking my head as I get out my laptop. "Speaking of which, Jasper, can you help me with theory tonight? I've got some questions about the Trout quintet. We're supposed to label key transitions and it's kind of confusing."

"Sure, kid," he says, cracking his knuckles. "Can it wait till dinner tonight? I need to finish grading papers. Don't worry, though. The Trout is famous for deviant modulations. Speaking of which, thank you _very _much for the brownie and the extremely entertaining distraction."

I don't need nearly as much help any more, so the tutoring sessions have become less frequent lately. We all usually end up hanging out and having dinner at their apartment anyway. I like to cook more than Alice or Jasper and they have a great kitchen. When I look at them I see everything a marriage should be, but it never makes me feel jealous, partly because they treat me like a kid sister. Also, if I'm honest, it makes me hopeful.

After living with Charlie, who never got over my mom, and Renee, whose relationships have always seemed to have a quality as transient as weather, it's amazing to see two people who truly belong together. My cynical side reminds me that they're newlyweds, but the hopeful part of me says they're the real thing. I need them to be the real thing. I don't know why, but I do. I'm staring at my laptop but in my peripheral vision I can see him kiss her hair before he leaves, and I can't help but smile.

My smile fades as I check my email. My face is really hot and Alice notices.

"Sexy email from Edward?" she guesses mischievously, and my head whips up.

"What?" damn. How does she know these things?

"Look at you blush, girl! I am so right," she gasps as she scoots around to look at my computer.

I try to hide it from her but she's too fast. Her eyebrows shoot up as she gasps, pointing at the screen.

"Um, Bella?"

"Yes, Alice?" There is no getting out of this now.

"Who is Renee Dwyer and why is she sending you advice on safety words and bondage etiquette?"

_My mother. Who, like you, Alice, assumes I'm able to entice my hopeless crush into a kinky relationship._ I try to imagine her reaction to this and it is loud, even in my head.

"I can't think of a way to answer that question without making it seem much, much worse than it is," I confess honestly. "But in a _nutshell_, Renee's my mom. She thinks she's being helpful. And no, nothing is going on with Edward or anyone else. I only wish my life were half as interesting in reality as it is in your combined imaginations."

"You have to click on that link," she says, eyes twinkling, "oh come on, Bella, aren't you curious? That looks kinda hot."

I shake my head, but click on the link like she asks. We look at the picture loading, take one look at each other and lean in to read, fascinated.

~oЖo~

One of Dr. George's many studio rules involves somewhat formal attire for our weekly lessons as well as the master class. This means every Monday and Thursday I forgo jeans and comfort for hose, heels, dresses or skirts, and makeup. At first I really hated this rule, until I caught Edward staring at me several times during master class last Thursday.

It's become my ritual to warm up for my lesson and touch up my makeup in the practice room. Today I'm thinking a lot more about Edward than the rules as I adjust my skirt and practice walking in it, looking at the mirror. On Thursday, something about the way my skirt moved had caught his attention. I grab my favorite shade of lipstick and start to apply, smiling as the memory of that hour plays in my mind for the millionth time.

I was wearing a soft wrap dress, a vintage silk number I found with Alice one day at her favorite thrift shop. The color was a gorgeous blue so deep it had purple undertones. Alice had insisted it would look great on stage, especially in the flutter of the hem as I walked and the way my skin would glow in contrast under the stage lights.

He was playing for another student at the time, and I was trying to stretch my neck and shoulder area without calling too much attention to myself. I was tense, because it was my turn to sing in front of the whole studio next. Apparently I wasn't as subtle as planned, because a flirtatious baritone named Robbie took it upon himself to give me a shoulder rub. Not used to strangers touching me, I stiffened in response. At that same moment, Edward made a mistake. Edward. Mistake. The tenor who was singing didn't seem to notice, as the song continued without further flaw, but Dr. George looked up in surprise. Then he looked at me and smirked.

My eyes flew to Edward's, which were locked on my neck and Robbie's hand. He scowled and stared at his own hands for a moment. I wondered if his internal grandma was quietly yelling at them. I know mine would be.

"Sorry," Robbie whispered, a bit too close in my ear. "I should have asked first."

"Don't worry about it," I assured him. I felt guilty. He was just trying to be nice.

"Would you like a neck rub, Bella?" or maybe he _was_ flirting after all. I couldn't tell if he knew the difference.

"No thanks. I'm up next," I murmured, gathering my sheet music.

The song ended, and I tried to calm my butterflies.

"La Bella Cigna, sei pronta?" Dr. George called to me. I looked up, startled, but recognized enough Italian to know he was talking to me. It wasn't hard to figure out what he wanted, but he had an odd expression on his face.

"Yes, I'm ready," I reply quietly in English.

"You should really take Italian next semester," he informed me as I passed him. I knew I'd have to take it before graduating, but I hadn't planned on doing it quite so soon. Language classes have labs and would take some serious schedule juggling.

As I worried about the logistics involved with adding five hours to my course load, Edward's head whipped around and he glared at the professor. If I needed a reminder that Edward only makes sense when he's making music, that master class provided several examples. I could swear that I heard him whisper "damn arrow" as I climbed the steps to the stage. Now he's thinking about hunting again? It was easier to picture him with a bow and arrow set-up than a gun, but what had brought that on? He did kind of look like he wanted to kill Robbie and Dr. George. And maybe me.

That final thought was so ridiculous it would have made me laugh if I hadn't been so worried about performing in front of the other students. At least I felt pretty good about the song I was going to sing. It was pretty, and a little sad, and fit my voice nicely, so I didn't struggle with it as I did with some of the other pieces.

When I made it to the center of the stage, I composed myself and looked over at Edward to see if he was ready. He was staring at my legs. Then his eyes darted to mine suddenly and I realized he didn't know what I was going to sing. I walked over to him and leaned close to whisper in his ear. He looked a bit alarmed, and my confidence wavered.

"_Se tu m'ami," _I whispered, not coming as close to his ear as I had wanted to.

He closed his eyes, as if in pain. I sang only for him as my eyes rested on everyone's face in the room, save his.

I'm jolted out of my memory by two realizations: first, that I've gone overboard with the lipstick, and second, that as much time as I've spend with him, I've never touched Edward, nor has he ever touched me. In light of Thursday's class, Friday's piano bar incident, and Sunday's heavenly glow, I feel ready to make some changes. He might be a crazy hunter with a glorious French girlfriend, but contrary to the lyrics to the song I was singing on Thursday, I can't see my feelings changing. _He was looking at you like you were something to eat, _I can still hear Jasper saying.

I take a tissue from my bag and blot my lips until all that remains is a hint of color, as if I had been drinking wine and it stained my mouth. It's prettier than what I had planned, so I leave it like that. That's one problem down, and one to go.

~oЖo~

_**A/N**_

_**Je t'aime= I love you.**_

_**se tu m'ami = if you love me **_(a pretty song by Pergolesi…)

**What on earth is going on in Edward's mind? **

**If you can tell me what book made me want to be a marine biologist when I was twelve, I'll send you a brownie.**

**Also- there is an EPOV of this chapter in Canzone outtakes, under my profile. The outtakes aren't in order because they were written by request for charity auctions (most of them). Check it ooooot, if you like.  
**


	5. Tyger, Tyger

**Ch. 5 Tyger, Tyger Burning Bright**

**A/N - This chapter is action packed, people. We've got musical mysticism, erotic non-touching (including aural pleasures), and some crazy, whacked-outness at the end. **

**BIG Thank yous to NelsonSmandela for being my beta; to Algonquinrt, Adorablecullens, and Feisty Y Beden for being amazing writers as well as making me feel really welcome; to aingealeire**, **cabr, azotochtli, and everyone else who has been recommending this story; and to William Blake, for haunting my nightmares for several years now. Maybe now he can haunt yours too. You're welcome!**

**Music linkies: All on Youtube~**

**(highly recommended) John Adams, **_**China Gates**_

_**/watch?v=w29xxwICV34&feature=related**_

**Phillip Glass, **_**Music box**_

_**/watch?v=Q1Hn9UTq16k&feature=related**_

**Regina Spektor**_**, Fidelity:**_

_**/watch?v=SGTDRztaCCw**_

**(most highly recommended for the final scene this chapter) Natacha Atlas**_**, Kidda:**_

_**/watch?v=KpgtILuOl68**_

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

~oЖo~

By the time Edward is scheduled to come in for my lesson, I've all but forgotten about my mission to touch him. Dr. George has been riding me for the past half hour, never letting up on me as he takes me through scales and vocalises. He's got me facing a full-length mirror on the wall in his studio so that I can see all the crazy faces and gestures I'm making. He's polite enough not to phrase it that way, but that's exactly what's happening. It's frustrating at first to have to look at myself and sing, but I'm getting used to it. I wonder if this is the first step to growing a giant Diva Ego. Eventually I'll get big, shiny hair and that unique facial expression somehow simultaneously resembling doe-eyed innocence and feline sharp-toothed menace.

I don't mind his intensity, because I'd much rather he be demanding of me than dismissive. I've been through enough group studio classes to know that he's only demanding of students who work hard, so I actually want him to act this way, only it's pretty intense, and I have to focus and not get frustrated again.

I'm focusing so intently I don't even notice when Edward takes Dr. George's place at the piano. I start slightly when I hear the professor's voice much closer than expected, and can't help but jerk my gaze toward the piano. Edward's eyes are soft, and one side of his mouth curves in a small smile. I smile back, then catch Dr. George's bemused glance in the mirror and refocus on what I'm doing.

The lesson goes pretty well, and I feel that same dim glow from our last practice session together. It's not the full, transcendent experience that I'm looking for, though, and I'm feeling frustrated. I'm knocking at the door, but I can't get in. Of course this makes me think of Edward.

Edward, who slips out when I'm fumbling with my book bag, as silently as he entered.

~oЖo~

All week my twin torments manage to provide a constant source of irritation. Even in my dreams, Edward eludes me. Every night I dream that I am under the piano as he plays. I reach out my hand, but as far as I reach I can never touch him, not even his foot, which seems so close.

"Why are you so far away?" I ask him.

He only hums a hauntingly beautiful and unfamiliar tune in response, and I can't even see his face. Every night it's the same tune.

I always wake up gasping and crying, stretching out my arms, finding only night air.

The daily reality of the Edward situation isn't much better. Sometimes I see him staring at me from a distance, either in the library or in the conservatory hallways. I see a flash of his fair skin and expressive eyes, and then, inevitably, the copper highlights of his dark hair glinting half a head above the crowd as he walks away.

I'm feeling like a chick in an egg, struggling against something I can't see. I'm bound up, waiting for something that can only come from me.

~oЖo~

I'm pacing tight circles in a tiny, airless practice room, trying with absolutely no success to get the right balance with the Schubert, consulting the piano only to check my pitch, when the frustration finally bubbles over into anger.

My face heats and my hands shake, and I have to take several deep breaths in order to steady myself. I erase the last take from my recorder and set it up again. I don't stop singing only because I'm too stubborn to admit defeat.

This is when it happens.

I play my starting note, and fill my lungs with air. The heat in my face intensifies, and I am awash in some internal light. I'm almost blind with whatever it is I'm feeling, which is too open, too big for me to contain or control. So I just let the music flow through me, and it's so easy I could cry with relief. I sing the Schubert, then the rest of my repertoire so far from the semester, and then repeat through. I'm almost afraid to stop; worried that I won't be able to do it again, that it's a fluke.

My cell buzzes, and it's a text from Alice.

**You ever going to leave that practice room tonight?**

I text her back and reluctantly gather my things.

She and Jasper are waiting for me in the conservatory parking lot. I approach them, totally dazed.

"You look kind of high, Bella" Alice murmurs, looking a little too deeply into my eyes.

I feel intruded upon. I break eye contact and stare at the digital face of my MP3 recorder. I look up at them, feeling a little confused. It reminds me of my last mild concussion. I hold it up for them to see.

"It says I was recording for over two hours," I mumble. "What the hell time is it, anyway?"

Their eyebrows shoot up simultaneously. If I didn't still feel annoyed at having to stop and surprised at how long I've been going, I'd probably laugh. I do feel kind of drugged.

"May I?" Jasper gently takes the recorder from me, and messes with the buttons.

We all bend over to hear it, and I hear my own voice, only it sounds a little different than usual. I'm not going to lie, it's nothing amazing like the boy-king Arthur pulling Excalibur out of the stone, or baby Superman lifting a truck off his adoptive dad, but it's definitely the best I've ever sung. It's like a polished recording of the best possible work I can currently do, plus a tiny bit extra. Listening to it isn't as powerful as how I felt while singing, but it's still undeniably pleasurable to hear, particularly after this frustrating week.

"Not bad, kid," Jasper says, putting his arm around my shoulder.

Alice just smiles as she's staring at the recorder.

"Nice work on the Schubert, sweetie. I couldn't play it any better myself," I can tell she means it, and I've heard her play. She's amazing.

I feel all warm inside.

"Let's get you home."

~oЖo~

It's Friday night, and I'm dressed all in black for a choir concert. We're singing the Bach _Magnificat_ I had described to Jacob, and I'm excited to finally hear the whole thing with full orchestra and soprano soloist. One of the female voice professors, a friendly blonde lady named Suzanne, is singing the solo, and I watch her carefully while she sings. She would have been my voice teacher had Dr. George not agreed to take me as his student. She's excellent, and it's easy for me to get that glowy feeling while watching her sing.

By the time we get to the glorious waterfall-action of the _**Omnes Generationes**__, _I'm in my zone, feeling that same ecstasy from last night's practice session. It's the first time all day, though I didn't try to force it. As the music ends and the spotlights dim, I'm thinking it might be wise to start a journal, so I can keep track of everything that leads to this feeling. The house lights come on and –

Edward.

His eyes – I swear, even though it makes no sense – his dark eyes are practically glowing, and he's looking right at me. I can't look away. He reminds me of something I read once, a poem I used to know, but I can't place it. I have an image in my mind of eyes burning from deep within a jungle.

We do not smile at each other.

~oЖo~

"What's this song called?" I ask, turning a page of my book. This week I've brought Thomas Hardy's _**Far From the Madding Crowd**_**.** "I've never heard it before."

Delicious, delicate notes swirl around me, not the waterfall sounds of last week's Debussy, but more like leaves on a gentle breeze. Edward's feet work the pedals in hypnotic, rhythmic motions. I know I can touch his feet from here, but even I'm not that pathetic, so I keep my hands to myself for the moment. My time will come, and I won't take scraps from anyone. My inner Grandma Swan concurs.

"It's John Adams," he says softly. "This composition is called _China Gates. _It's minimalism."

I'm still staring at his feet. His rhythm is perfect. The tone is light, wistful, but not heartbreakingly so.

"Do you like it? … Bella?" There is a slight pause in his words, as if he hadn't meant to say my name, but then did anyway.

My ears get hot when he says my name, as if he had just caressed them with his tongue. I don't know if this is a side effect from too many Victorian novels, if this is me being pathetic, or if this is normal behavior for a crush. This is my first crush, technically, so I have no idea. I don't think I've ever been so miserable, happy, and alive all at the same time. How do people put up with this sort of thing on a regular basis? It may be thrilling, but it's also humiliating and exhausting.

"Yes," I finally reply. "Edward." Just in case he feels it, too.

He stops playing for a moment, but I can't tell if the song has ended or not. I hear him inhale sharply through his nose.

"It's kind of repetitive, but there's something really freeing about it. This kind of reminds me of Phillip Glass," I elaborate.

"Another minimalist," he says, launching into something I recognize from the movie _The Hours._

"I know that's Glass," I say, smiling. "I've got that soundtrack. I used to play it while doing math homework back in high school. For some reason it helped me concentrate."

After a few minutes, he stops, and I come out from beneath the piano.

"Can we start with some Vaccai to warm up?" I ask, surprising us both.

Blushing, I take the slim yellow-bound sheet music out of my book bag and place it in front of him on the desired page. I chicken out and don't actually touch him, but my hair brushes his shoulder and I catch him sniffing it with a drunken look on his face. I can smell him, too, and he doesn't smell like college-guy cologne. He smells amazing, sort of sweet, and like nothing I've ever smelled before. I want to lean in closer, but I hide my smile by turning away from him and stretch my arms a little bit to loosen up.

He starts playing, and I start the exercise. There are words to these particular exercises – kind of childish, sweet rhymes – but I start to feel the glow almost right away. After a few of these short vocalises, I stop.

"Would you like to work on the Schubert?" I ask, working to control my enthusiasm.

I'm trying to sound nonchalant, but I'm dying to sing it. I can tell that the zone is within reach for me, and since Edward is always in the zone, I'm dying to feel what it's like when we're there together.

His fingers pluck at the keyboard, and I can almost hear a nightingale's song, Spanish guitars, and my own hopes and dreams in the notes. For a moment, I am overwhelmed by the exquisite caress of his hands on the ivory, as if he was touching my own pale skin, and I blush furiously at the thought. As I did in practice by myself, I feel the heat in my face intensify as I take in air and begin to sing.

At first, I am thinking of Alice's violin, the bow and the wood weeping together through the cry of the string. I am in excellent posture, no tension (save the muscles that work the lungs) and an open column of sound. Then I am bird, desire, despair, longing, and hope.

I am rich, gushing sound and just a vessel for this moment, and it's so strong that I can look at him. We lock eyes, and time ceases to bind us in this flowing moment. We are separated by half a length of grand piano, of wood and steel and ivory and glorious vibrating air. We are connected by all of this, too, and by the force of a penetrating gaze that leaves me feeling completely naked and vulnerable.

He looks at me as if I _am_ completely naked and vulnerable.

I'm trembling as he stands, picks something up from the piano, and walks towards me.

We're still staring at each other like we're possessed, and I'm not sure that's not the case.

I see a flash of yellow – the edge of my music book, the slim Vaccai, curled in his hand. He holds it up, and the worn edge of the binding barely touches my forehead, light as a feather. He's so close I can smell his unique, sweet scent again. I breathe in deeply, memorizing him. He moves the soft paper gently around the curve of my cheek, and, getting dizzy, I close my eyes.

When I open them he is gone.

~oЖo~

On Monday, I can't wait for my voice lesson. My morning classes barely register in my consciousness, and I am impatient. I don't know what I want more – to see Edward or to get back into that glorious column of sound we made together. I'm not the most sexually experienced girl in the world, having only let a couple of boys get as far as second base in high school, but no kiss ever felt like _that _before.

Of course, this makes me think about kissing Edward, and of his probable French girlfriend, and of yellow paper tickling my face. And of his _possible_ French girlfriend. I need to know if he has a girlfriend now. If he has one and is not on the very brink of breaking up with her, his non-touching of me was highly inappropriate. The way he stared at me was easily worth ten brotherly kisses from Jacob, not that I let him kiss me more than a couple of times. The way he touched me with the Vaccai was worth a dozen clumsy over-the-shirt gropings from Mike, not that I didn't slap him in the face for that "accident" in gym class.

I'm finally in Professor George's studio, glowing like a brand and flying through scales, when Edward slinks into the studio after a perfunctory knock. He doesn't look at me, but takes his place at the piano as I finish warming up.

"Pergolesi," Dr. George commands, in the zone as well.

We move rapidly through my entire semester's repertoire, all from memory and nearly all of it in the zone. There's a tiny bit of residual struggle on the first two pieces I learned in the semester, but we iron out those spots, and I'm starting to feel like I can do no wrong again. Edward and Dr. George look focused and sharp, like birds of prey. I look in the mirror and see something similar in my own eyes. I like it, even though it scares me a little.

"Schubert," Dr. George finally says, and we start the delicate Serenade.

The professor sits down at his desk and closes his eyes. Given this privacy, I hazard a glance at Edward for the first time since he walked in on the lesson. I am instantly rewarded with another intensely intimate eye-lock. My face gets hot, but I can't look away, and just as in practice, I fill my lungs and the magic starts all over again.

_Joy._

We finish the song uninterrupted, and the professor is quiet for a moment. I finally drag my eyes away from Edward in time to find him slowly opening his eyes. He nods once to himself and smiles at me.

Joy.

For a moment, at least. Edward's head jerks up, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

What the hell? I've just had the best voice lesson of my life, when Edward bolts from the room like his hair is on fire, cell phone in hand already. My soaring mood plummets like he just shot it with one of his precious fucking arrows. Before I can follow him, Dr. George stops me.

"Bella," he says excitedly. "Excellent work today, my dear, truly excellent. You know, I've got my eye on you for a study abroad program in Italy. It's in a smallish city not far from Rome, but if you impress the locals, it can make your career. It made mine. Tell me, my dear, have you ever heard of Volterra?"

"Doesn't ring a bell, sir," I admit. "But then, I didn't get to travel Europe much when I lived in France."

"Well, you wouldn't go till next year at the earliest," he says, rifling through his music card catalog. "I've just decided to send the recording of this lesson to my old patron's family there. They are very low profile, but they have influence with recording companies and some of the biggest houses in Europe. They are, in a way, avid collectors of talent; they help musicians, dancers, writers – artists of all kinds, or so I understand. You might never meet them in person, or at least you wouldn't know you were meeting one, but if they think you have talent, you will find doors opening for you all over the world."

He smiles at me beneficently, and I have to smile back.

"How about another song, my dear Bella? You've learned enough for this semester, but I'd like to hear this particular piece in your voice."

I nod eagerly, and he scribbles on a Post-It note and hands it to me.

"You're going to love the Wolf." He beams in parting, closing his office door behind me.

~oЖo~

Alice and Jasper are supposed to be here, but I don't see them anywhere yet. Keys is more crowded than I like it, and I give up my table to a group after waiting half an hour. I'm always uncomfortable in a crowd, so I decide to ride out my introversion at the piano. This is more or less how I got started playing in public in the first place. I had always liked to play and sing on my own, but found that, when forced into awkward social situations involving pianos, I could go into my own little bubble and still get credit for interacting with people.

I go to the piano and wait till it's available, then I slide in and start on a favorite from my days at Forks High – _Fidelity_ by Regina Spektor. Something about the lyrics reminds me – well, anything and everything reminds me of Edward because I'm pathetic, and my crush is consuming me as much or more than the music is. But with Edward, it's all tied in together. I finish singing and look around for Edward, Alice, Edward, Jasper or Edward, but don't see any of them. I check my phone, and nobody's tried to call me, either. Angela isn't even working tonight. I'm starting to think I'm here on the wrong night entirely.

The crowd has gotten really loud, and a gypsyish group has taken the far stage. There are a bunch of foreign-looking instruments I can only classify as drums, string, and percussion. There's a gorgeous woman dressed in silky veils, a ton of makeup, and a metric asston of shiny, clangy jewelry, and she starts moaning into the microphone. The music sounds like Arabic to me now, and the singer starts swaying her hips. I find the rhythm hypnotic, and the plaintive wail of her song pulls me a bit closer.

I'm weaving my way through the heated bodies, sweating and questioning my decision, when I run into someone's chest, hard. Someone tall. I am steadied by cool hands. I sniff, and smell Edward. For a second I'm smiling at having accidentally touched him for the first time with practically my entire body, but then I look up and realize my mistake.

He's pretty enough to be Edward, and tall enough, too, but he's not Edward. Someone who smells very much like him. His eyes are so similar I wonder if they're related – that pitch black so deep I wonder if there's any iris at all. I can't help but stare into his eyes, and I sniff him again, so much like Edward I again think they must be family, though beyond the scent, eyes, and intensity I can't see any further resemblance.

I remember the way Edward's eyes burned at me from the audience last week at the choir concert, and I finally recall the piece that had been eluding me for a week. It was a poem by William Blake I had memorized in the third grade.

_Tyger, tyger, burning bright _

_In the forests of the night,_

He smiles seductively. I feel dizzy, and his cool grip on me tightens. I am eight years old again, standing in front of my classmates and utterly terrified. My subconscious mind is screaming at me, as if from inside a dream:

_What immortal hand or eye_

_Could frame thy fearful symmetry?_

"Hello," he says silkily. I can't believe I can hear him distinctly in all this noise, but I can. "Your song was exquisite. What's your name?"

_In what distant deeps or skies_

I can hear the trace of a European accent, but it's not strong enough for me to make out a specific country. I shake my head in an attempt to clear the dizziness. In my peripheral vision, I see bronze hair, and I crane my neck, suddenly focused again.

_Burnt the fire of thine eyes? _

Fuck. Please be Edward.

"Thank you," I say to not-Edward, avoiding further eye contact. "I think I see my friend, excuse me."

I try to tug myself from his grip, but I get nothing but pain, and the feeling that I will have bruises in the morning.

_On what wings dare he aspire?_

His smile broadens, and his black eyes sparkle with mischief.

_What the hand dare seize the fire?_

I feel like a lump of ice is growing in my stomach, but I get pissed off at him –

_And what shoulder and what art_

– and for some reason I hiss. It comes from deep within me. This is kind of weird, but it seems to surprise him, and he lets go of my arms long enough for me to slip into the crowd away from him and towards the front entrance. I feel my neck, my pulse is racing, what was it that-

_Could twist the sinews of thy heart?_

I pull out my cell as I fight my way through and call Alice. I put the phone to my ear, but the bar is so loud I can't even hear if the call is going through at all.

_And when thy heart began to beat_

So, I hang up and text her instead:

** Keys 911**

As soon as the text goes through, I feel foolish and hope I don't freak out Alice and Jasper. I just got hit on by some overly grippy guy, no reason to call for the cavalry. I text again:

**Never mind, am going home. Got spooked.**

But I'm still spooked, and I feel I'm being followed. Of this there is no evidence.

_What dread hand and what dread feet?_

I'm looking in the crowd for Edward, but he's nowhere. I can't imagine him in a crowd this big, anyway. I can't believe I'm in a crowd this big myself, and I think maybe that's why I'm so anxious.

_What the hammer?_

The ice in my stomach starts to spread through my veins, and my ears start ringing.

_What the chain?_

I take long, deep breaths as the panic threatens to take away my last scrap of reason.

_In what furnace was thy brain?_

My brain does feel like it's in a furnace. I'm seriously losing it. If I can just get out of here, I'll be fine. Bodies are pressing all around me, jostling me and nudging me, and I just want to scream, but I have to focus –

_What the anvil? What dread grasp_

I think I spy a flash of bronze again, closer to the exit, and I lunge in that direction. It's difficult to make progress, because the bodies are dangerously packed in, and I start to hope the fire marshal arrives. I feel like I'm going to puke.

_Dare its deadly terrors clasp?_

If I can just make it to Edward, I'll be fine. I take advantage of my small frame to squeeze through a group of jazz musicians carrying music cases over their heads.

_When the stars threw down their spears_, and I start to feel the cool air from outside on my face.

_And water'd heaven with their tears_,

I also feel wetness on my face. Am I crying?

Alarm bells are still going off all over my body, though, and the cool air does little to help my panic. Though I've always hated crowds, I've never had any kind of panic attack about it before. I finally break free from people touching me, and start to look for a taxi, or a cop. For a second, I'm almost relieved to see someone familiar lounging just outside the entrance, until I realize it's that perfect-looking Euro guy I just got away from. He's grinning at me with his head tilted, as if highly amused.

_Did He smile His work to see? _

I cannot look into his eyes, so to keep focused I start rubbing my arms where he gripped me, and look for Edward in the stream of students walking up and down Oak Street.

"EDWARD!" I yell operatically down the street, wondering which direction he was most likely to take.

I'm ignoring staring eyes, and I realize that I have no idea where Edward lives. I look at my cell. No calls, no texts.

"Who's Edward, love?" Euro guy inquires, settling into a lazy gait next to me as I try to walk away from him.

"Not you, asshole," I bite back. "Leave me the fuck alone."

"Come now, don't be afraid," he says, reaching for me with inhuman speed as reason splinters in my mind. "Let's find your Edward together."

He snatches me into a dark alley, and I feel an unshed scream threaten to rip apart my lungs when –

I can't see anything at all, but I hear a whooshing sound and feel a deep chill as Death Himself bends in towards me.

Oh God, oh God, forgive me. Please, my mom, no – Charlie – please, not this, please no, please EdwardAliceJasperReneeCharlieEdwardRenee –

_Did He who made the lamb make thee?_

"What did you say, my pet?" he says, low and right in my ear. He sounds confused. So am I. Did I say that last bit out loud?

"I do believe she said to leave her the fuck alone," growls the most beautiful voice that ever existed.

Joy explodes inside my fear and I think, yes – I did see him. He heard me. I look up, and see stars. I look back down, and see nothing.

I only hear and smell and feel.

Hissing and sweetness, growling and the stench of trash. Thick darkness and confusion.

I feel something toss me back against a wall, easily, as if I weigh as little as a handful of pennies. I hear a thud, and then no more.

**A/N- Reviewers get teasers, wild speculation gets my undying affection, and recommendations get a lifetime of servitude. From Jacob. **

**Go nominate a lesser-known fic (this one, if you feel like it) over on theindietwificawards (dot) com! **


	6. Touché

**A/N: Obligatory PSA: If a vampire or anyone else is stalking you in a public place, don't leave by yourself. Bella was fail in this regard. We all know that child should be rotting in Forks cemetery, anyway.**

**Thanks to: everyone who nominated me for the Indies, rockin' beta NelsonSmandela for fixing all my monkeyed-up commacrashes & telling me where to end this chapter, Feisty Y. Beden for suggesting the Wolf, AingealEire for making me a pretty banner, and las hermanas Colombianas, for being as shamelessly enthusiastic about favored fics as I am.**

Chapter: 6, Touché

**Chapter Music: on the youtubes**

**The Rolling Stones, **_**Wild Horses**_

**/watch?v=KQx6YJnF7t8&feature=related**

**The Sundays, **_**Wild horses**_**:**

**/watch?v=58GvCslX4LA**

**Scene from **_**A Room with a View**_** (80's version) with Ch'il Bel Sogno by Kiri Te Kanawa. If you want to skip to the music and the romance, start watching it at 2:12**

**/watch?v=CVNDBda6MgI&feature=related**

**Hugo Wolf, **_**Die Bekehrte**_

**/watch?v=Rsqk82mTbIs**

~oЖo~

_As always, Edward is just out of reach. Please Edward, don't go. The fire, I feel it burning in my head. My head, it's on fire –_

"_Who's Edward, love?"_

_My head is throbbing; reality is broken. Everything is off. I need to scream._

"_Come now, don't be afraid. Let's find your Edward together." _

_He is too fast for reality. Death Himself leans in towards me._

_Where is my scream?_

"_Shh, Bella. It's just a dream. You're safe now, Bella, my Bella," he croons. "Wake up a little bit. Talk to me now."_

_Cool hands soothe my throb, cool lips kiss my forehead._

"_Edward. I couldn't find you. I can never find you. You're always walking away." _

"_Shhhh, Bella. I'm here. I will not let him harm you. No person or creature or… thing will harm you again. I swear it. I'm so sorry I let him get close to you."_

_A cool embrace enfolds me, the familiar dream-song hum begins, and I am gently rocked into better dreams._

~oЖo~

His touch is the only thing that makes any sense. Burning trails of magnetized longing ignite wherever his touch has been. I cannot help but shiver and moan, my back arching. The motion throws me out of balance, and he steadies me with one hand. My head rests in the crook of his arm and against his chest, as if I were an infant. My lower back is on his crossed legs.

Cool hands probe my head where it hurts most, and I hear murmuring in French. It's too fast; I can't understand it. Everything feels wonky, but I keep my eyes closed, trying to listen in. As he speaks he trails his fingers lightly over my face and neck. He keeps returning to my head on the place where the pain rolls in radiating waves.

"_Elle a été certainement rêver._ _Elle parle quand elle a des rêves et des cauchemars. Elle se réveille maintenant. Oui, je vais voir pour cela. Merci. Je t'aime aussi."_

"Edward, why are you talking about my dreams to her? Oh no, what did you hear?" I sit up with a jerk, and my head immediately throbs with pain. I grimace and put my hands to my forehead. I feel incredibly disoriented and strangely defensive. We are in my dorm room, on my bed, and I don't remember how we got here. I'm still wearing my clothes from last night.

He looks at me with raised eyebrows, suddenly still.

"Wait, you understood me? You speak French and didn't tell me?"

I swear he's got to be from another planet. He has the nerve to look all hurt and betrayed.

"I'm sorry, were you under the impression that French is some kind of obscure language?" I demand incredulously, poking him in the chest with my index finger. "Edward, are you freaking kidding me with this?"

For a second, his face goes blank, and something dawns on Captain Obvious.

"You're right, that was a spectacularly stupid assumption," he says, grabbing my hand. "I can't read your mind, Bella."

"Yeah, well, welcome to the human race, genius," I mutter, but it's hard to stay angry when his cool, elegant fingers are tracing patterns in my palm.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I don't know why I'm snapping at you when you _–_ when you saved me from that_–_" I break off, confused.

My emotions seem extreme and overwhelming. My mind is still in shambles. I feel like there are bits and pieces of what happened that make no sense at all. I need to understand what happened and I definitely don't want to talk about it.

"It's my fault," he says guiltily. "I should have gotten there sooner. And I definitely shouldn't be touching you like this."

He gently moves me aside, gets up off my bed, and thrusts his hands into his pockets. He looks miserable.

"Because … of your girlfriend?" I ask, feeling sad.

"I'm sorry, my what?" He looks sincerely confused.

"Don't you have a gorgeous French girlfriend who's probably a brilliant doctor or sexy nurse_–_" I clap my hand over my mouth. Good thing at least one body part is trying to keep me from talking. I groan a little, and try to bury my face in my hands.

This turns out to have been a very good move, because Edward sits down again beside me and gently lifts my chin. He's looking into my eyes in a way that borders on clinical, but I still shiver from how close he is.

"Your French needs improving, Bella," he says quietly, shining a small flashlight in my eyes. "That was my dad. My family lives in France at present. But you're right about the doctor thing. My father is a surgeon, and he told me what to look for with regard to your head injury. Look up; now follow my finger. Good."

I notice he doesn't specifically deny having a girlfriend, but it kind of sounds that way. I almost feel encouraged. If he wanted to encourage me, wouldn't he deny it outright?

"What's wrong with touching me then? I don't mind. I mean, it's not like you were groping me or anything."

Judging from the way he was touching me as I was waking up, he didn't seem to mind touching me. He frowns, looking like some medieval icon of a suffering saint. It's almost funny.

"I shouldn't take advantage of you. You hit your head, which, incidentally, is my fault, too." He stops touching me and sits back away from me. Immediately the throb in my head gets worse, and I'm getting dizzy trying to sit up on my own.

"Is there anything that _isn't_ your fault, Edward?" I ask, annoyed. "Honestly, are you seriously going to blame yourself for a minor accident that happened while you were busy saving my life?"

He looks so sad I want to take it back, or find some way to make it better. I wonder if he was brought up Catholic, like Charlie. If that's true, I know exactly what to say to make him feel like touching me is okay. It's not even a lie, so I don't feel any remorse about pushing his buttons. Getting rid of guilt is as easy multiplying a negative with a negative.

"It's just that, when you were touching me it didn't hurt, and now it does. Your hands are so cool and soothing. Do you mind, just a little longer, please?" He looks a little bewildered as I turn around and lean into him, trying to replicate our earlier position.

His hands return to my forehead, and begin the gentle rubbing again. I sigh in bliss, promising silently to be good and not push it. He nestles me a little closer, and I feel a gentle breath on my ear. Oh my. I kind of do want to push it. Just a little bit.

My pulse quickens, and I can't help but touch the arm cradling me. My fingers make the same light patterns I felt him making earlier _–_ figure eights, mostly, and circles. I am telling him I noticed. Everywhere our skin touches I feel a rushing sensation, like my soul is racing around the points of connection, vibrating with excitement and trying to jump ship.

"I must feel warm to you," I whisper in amazement at the contrasting temperature. He's not icy, but it's almost like he's been standing in an industrial walk-in refrigerator, or like he's been outside for hours on a chilly day. Soon I am fighting a deep shiver. I don't want to push him too far.

He doesn't say anything, but he keeps rubbing my scalp gently, and I still feel his breath on my ear. It's driving me nuts, so I tilt my head to look at him better. He's studying me, and I find his focused gaze unnerving. It reminds me of that guy in the club.

"Edward," I begin, not really knowing how to ask what I need to know. "That guy, did he – where is he? Do you know?"

"I wish I could tell you. I'm really sorry, but he got away. He ran off while we were fighting, and I couldn't just leave you there in the alley." Helooks really angry now.

"I didn't tell him my name or anything. He probably won't…" I check my pocket for my wallet and ID. It's fine. Everything is there.

"No, I don't think he can track you. But just in case, you're stuck with me today, if that's okay with you."

I don't know if it's the concussion or the fact that the guy I've been _pining_ over has just announced that he won't leave me for an entire day, but it's all too much for me. I have no idea what I'm doing, what exactly happened, or why Edward is being so nice to me even though he's clearly upset. I feel like an idiot, flirting with him when he's just doing what anyone would do if they saw a friend in trouble. I feel like an idiot for flirting at all when I'm clearly addled, woozy, and possibly still in shock. He's being incredibly kind, and I'm so embarrassed.

"Bella," he asks, looking a little alarmed, "It _is_ okay with you, isn't it?"

"I feel so bad, Edward. You've been amazing, and I've been a dolt. I never should have even left the club alone like that, and you probably didn't get any sleep, and now you're missing hours of practice." My face is hot again, and I can feel my eyes prickling with the faint threat of tears. "You shouldn't have to baby-sit me like this when you've got stuff to do."

I move out of his embrace and immediately have to put my hands to my head, because it really is throbbing again, and I'm dizzy. His touch really is magic like that.

"Stop that. I'm right where I want to be," he says with a scowl, but his gentle hands are back on my head, and it's better than an ice pack and drugs. "I'm due to take a day off anyway. No more arguments."

~oЖo~

I must have dozed off for a while, because I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing and Edward's absence. My head doesn't hurt as much, though. I check my caller ID, and some of the tension drains out of my body.

"Hey," I say, "I was trying to call you yesterday. Did I get the date wrong?"

"You're okay! You're okay. She's okay, Jasper," Alice sounds truly relieved. "Bella, honey, we were supposed to meet tonight, not last night, remember? Jasper and I were on that stupid fucking camping retreat for all the graduate students who work as TAs."

"I'm sorry, Alice! I'm such an idiot; you have no idea. I must not have been paying attention when you told me, but I'm sure you did because Angela wasn't working either."

"We didn't have any signal AT ALL out in the woods," she said. "I had this horrible nightmare about you last night, so we left early, and as soon as we got a signal I got all those texts from you. Honey, what happened?" her slight southern accent is coming out stronger now because she's really upset.

I can hear Jasper talking quietly in the background. I want to know exactly what was in her nightmare, but I'm also afraid to ask.

I jump a little at the sound of my door unlocking, but it's just Edward. He walks back into my room with a bag from a pharmacy. He puts my key on the desk next to my bed and starts taking things out of the bag, handing me a bottle of water.

"Alice, I'm not even entirely sure," I say, cautiously. "The club was really crowded, and I could barely move. Then this … guy, I don't know, I thought he was…someone I knew at first, but he obviously wasn't. I started having these crazy thoughts, and I thought I was having a panic attack, so I fought my way out of the club. Alice, you wouldn't believe how crowded it was. I think we were way over fire code."

"Bella, my dreams are usually pretty much on target. What about the guy you thought you knew? I saw some guy … I saw him killing you in an alley. It looked so real." She's really crying now.

"I'm okay now, I promise. You really need to tell me about this dreaming thing. It's scary accurate," I say softly. "He did follow me, and drag me into an alley. But Edward heard me yelling, and he must have chased the guy off."

"Oh, thank God," she whispers. "And you didn't hit your head after all?"

"Uh, yeah, I did, actually," I say, a little awed. "Jeez, Alice, that's specific. I hit it somehow right after Edward swooped in to save the day. He thinks I have a concussion. He stayed with me all night. He's been amazing," I smile at him, feeling dopey.

His eyes go all soft when he looks at me again, but he's frowning and looking concerned.

"He's there now?" Alice asks suddenly.

"Yeah," I say. "Why?"

"Let me talk to him!"

Edward snatches the phone out of my hand before I can protest. I let go because I'm wondering how he heard her, and am a little stunned at how fast he is.

"Hi Alice … No … Sure … She begged not to go last night, but I think she should have at least one scan done soon, yeah. … That's not necessary. … Okay, I'll ask her."

He cradles the phone on his chest and asks me if I want to go to Alice and Jasper's tonight. I shrug and nod, trying to indicate that it's okay with me if it's okay with him. I really don't want to go to the hospital.

~oЖo~

I lose that battle fairly quickly, but only because Edward doesn't fight fair at all. I don't even remember agreeing to go, but he was staring at me and sort of petting me and now we're sitting in a waiting room. Edward is reading my current book to me aloud. He's got one arm around my shoulders, and he's still stroking my head softly, even though it doesn't hurt as much. I realize I haven't heard him speak nearly enough because his voice is a wonder of nature. He's reading in honeyed tones right in my ear so nobody else can hear, and I realize this is pretty much the most and best sex I've ever had. I can't decide whether I'm more embarrassed or turned on, but in either case, I'm beet red, and I'm not telling him to stop because for the first time today, he's not frowning or scowling or looking guilty.

He pauses and looks at the cover.

"Your reading material gets better and better," he smirks, studying the artwork on the cover.

"Since when do you pay attention to what I'm reading?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

"It's been a while since I read this book, but it's even better now the second time through. Where did you get this?" he says, ignoring the question.

"Oh, Angela loaned it to me. It's one of her favorite books. She's really into magical realism. She said, 'I won't talk to you again unless it's about _The Master and Margarita _or about Bulgakov's epic genius.' "

"Right she is," he says with a little laugh and continues reading in my ear.

I shiver from the pleasure of it and hear him breathe in sharply. He gets up quickly without as much as a perfunctory "excuse me" and goes to sweet-talk the triage nurse again. Whatever he said must have worked, because within a couple of minutes I've got my head in a CT machine.

After a quick consult during which Edward insists on looking at the CT scan, he finally relaxes a little, and we leave. I'm relieved that I've had my own clothes on the whole time and wasn't forced to mention my other injuries. I haven't had a chance to see them yet, but by the way they feel, they probably look far worse than they are. I bruise easily.

I close my eyes, wanting to see neither the cars whizzing by nor Edward's decidedly gloomy expression. I swear, unless he's playing the piano, he can't look happy for more than ten seconds. He must have a waiting room full of depressing thoughts in his head, each impatient for its turn. I'm preoccupied with my own thoughts. I can't escape the idea that Edward knows more about my attacker than he's letting on. That guy was incredibly strong and fast. How could lanky Edward pose any kind of threat to a vicious killer like him? I know I'm missing something big here, but now's not the time to ask. I'll just wait and watch.

~oЖo~

By the time we get to Alice and Jasper's place, I'm more than done thinking or talking about last night. It's just too much for me, and I beg off. I ask Alice if I can use her shower, and she has to promise Edward that she'll stay within earshot in case I fall. When I get out, I'm a little annoyed to find that she's already got my clothes in their tiny apartment washer.

We're in her bedroom, and she's trying to find something that can fit me. When I reject her offer of a small, short-sleeved T-shirt, she narrows her eyes at me and suddenly pulls up the sleeves of the bathrobe I'm wearing.

"What in the hell did _that?_" she gasps, pointing at the red and black bruises still blossoming on my right forearm.

I can make out a distinct handprint, especially where his fingertips gripped me as he yanked me into the alley. I'm really glad she can't see my upper arms. It's even worse there.

"Alice," I whisper, not wanting the guys in the living room to hear anything we say. I can hear Jasper playing the guitar, some Spanish-sounding piece. "Can we just drop it for now? I'm tired of thinking about it. I got really lucky, and Edward is acting freaked out enough about my head injury. I think he blames himself for not getting there sooner, when really the whole thing is my fault. Please? I need to relax, and not have it keep playing in my head."

She nods and quietly hands me a long-sleeved shirt instead. As we walk into the living room, I start to think Edward is even more psychic than Alice, because he stares at her for a second and then glares pointedly at my right forearm. I take the only single chair available in case he decides to start getting inquisitive. For a while he hovers over me, pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage. Gah, tiger. I'm not going to think about that.

Jasper starts playing a vaguely familiar rock song on his guitar and then stops, shaking his head.

"Man, I hate covers, even when I do them," he laughs.

Edward's eyebrows shoot up, and I'm welcoming the distraction.

"You mean specifically modern popular music?" he asks, one eyebrow arched. "Why make the distinction? Any piece of music we play is a cover unless it's an original composition."

"Yeah, I know," Jasper shrugs. "It's not my most consistent viewpoint, but it just bugs me to hear anyone but the Beatles doing the Beatles. I mean, do they really think they're going to do it better? Why not just listen to the real thing?"

"It's not always about doing it better," I object. "Sometimes it's taking the same song and saying something totally different."

"Name one," Jasper challenges, eyes serious. He's got his game face on.

"The Rolling Stones' 'Wild Horses', later covered by The Sundays," I shoot back without hesitation.

"You can't be serious! You mean the wimpy version from the beer commercial?" he scoffs.

"And Buffy," Alice adds. "I like that version. Man, I miss that show."

Edward finally settles down on the couch next to Alice. He seems amused.

"You're so not paying attention," I counter. I've won this argument before, and even though he's a more formidable sparring partner than Jake, Jasper is going down. "Take a second to think about the lyrics. First, you've got Mick Jagger, who is a complete badass. This is the guy who sings about getting girls under his thumb and having sympathy for the devil. Suddenly he's singing about childhood and some graceless lady with utter devotion? What's really moving about the Rolling Stones version is not that he would be tough enough to stop wild horses from dragging him away from her. You can easily imagine him doing something even tougher, like punching a grizzly bear in the face just to prove he can. The compelling thing is that he would _care_ enough about someone else to do it."

"Okay, so far you're preaching to the choir," Jasper grants. "We know why the original works. Now give me one good reason why the beer version would merit attention."

"Hey, did you not hear me say I like it? You want to sleep on the couch just to win a pissing contest, mister?" Alice says, pinching Jasper's arm.

I'm plugging my iPod in and queuing up The Sundays' version.

"Come on now, who would that really hurt?" He leers at her like a soap opera Don Juan, as the first chords begin to sound.

"Have you ever seen Harriet Wheeler from The Sundays?" I press on, ignoring their exchange. "She's tiny, almost as small as Alice, and so delicate-looking. Her songs are so emotional and vulnerable. When she sings the same words in 'Wild Horses', it's not remotely surprising that she would care deeply about someone, or mention childhood. What's really fascinating is that you can hear the level of devotion in her voice: she would truly sacrifice her own life, fragile as it is, to help someone she loves. They're both willing to do something completely out of character for love, and they're equally vulnerable, but for completely opposite reasons."

"I see graduate school in your future," Jasper laughs. "That was playing dirty, though, comparing her to Alice."

He elbows her lightly, but she's staring off into space, frowning a little.

"What's up, Gypsy?" he asks softly. "You're not still mad at me, are you?"

"No," she says, coming out of her daze. "I just got carried away, thinking about just how far I'd be willing to go to save someone I love. And I was still thinking about Buffy, I guess. It was silly."

"That's some imagination you've got, Alice," Edward murmurs, frowning at his own hands.

"Man, you have no idea," Jasper laughs. "I'd rather hear what Alice is thinking about than watch TV any day."

She laughs uneasily, and I notice Edward staring at my arm again. I look down and notice that I'm rubbing it through the sleeve. I stop. He's staring at his hands again, looking sad. I knew skipping a day of practice was a bad idea.

"Do you want to practice? I'm sure nobody would mind." I nod at the baby grand cramping up what would have been a dining room in the small apartment.

"Don't be silly." Edward seems surprised. "I told you I was due to take a day off. Plus we were talking about watching a movie."

"Yes, and since it's my turn, Jasper, I want to let Bella pick one out," Alice says. "And if I hear the words _chick flick_ come out of your mouth, I really will make you sleep on the couch."

"Oooh, _A Room With a View_!" I squee, excited. "Kiri te Kanawa sings Puccini in this. I love her."

Jasper groans, but doesn't utter the magic words.

"Oh, that's one of my favorites, and I haven't seen it in years!" Alice says ecstatically. "Yeah, the opera is good, but that's not the only reason you like it. The three hottest kisses in cinema history are in this movie. Am I right, Bella?"

I blush, finding the box as interesting as my face is hot.

"Ugh, help me out here Edward?" Jasper pleads. "Can't we have something with at least one explosion in it?"

I peek up through my lashes at Edward. He's staring at me intently.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing it," he says, looking all focused like when he's learning a new piece.

Jasper wisely says nothing.

~oЖo~

The remaining few weeks of the semester fly by, with one major change. While I can't call Edward's actions exactly romantic, he's always close by somehow. It's nice because we finally talk more. He asks me about a million questions about my life and interests, and even answers some of mine, though I think he edits quite a bit. Sometimes I sense that there's more to his hanging around me. He seems very watchful since that night. My dizzy spells go away by Thanksgiving, but I opt to stay at school, taking the time to study and practice. Edward and I spend the holiday with Alice and Jasper. Edward actually practices the whole time we're eating, which is kind of weird, but nice, too.

"Have you ever seen him eat anything?" Alice asks me one day at the library when we're alone.

I can't think of a single instance.

~oЖo~

My finals go far better than I feared they would. I'm in my final exam for individual voice instruction, which involves a short performance in the recital hall, Edward at the piano, and the entire voice faculty watching and taking notes. I'm more than a little intimidated, because three of the professors are somewhat famous. One of them, a lady with fluffy white hair and a permanently sour expression, asks for my newest piece, Die Bekehrte, which is the song by Hugo Wolf that Dr. George was so excited to give me. I have heard rumors that the professor who asks me to sing it has a long-running feud with Dr. George about vocal technique, and that kind of makes me angry. She assumes it's too advanced for me.

Anger helps me get in my zone, for some reason, and I am able to slip into the column of sound almost immediately. I lift my head and nod at Edward, who begins to play the spooky notes. As I'm singing the mysterious words* and allowing the music to take over, I can't help but think about the tenuous nature of Edward's actions towards me, compared to the intensity I feel in our connection. He hovers protectively, watching me as if fascinated, but he won't come any closer than absolutely necessary. His touch, when he does touch me, seems as tender as it is reluctant. I can see individual pieces that don't seem to fit, and they're starting to pile up so much I suspect I've got the wrong picture entirely. Edward Cullen is hiding something.

*** **_**Die Bekehrte**_ English translation:

In the red glow of sunset

I walked silently through the wood.

Damon sat and blew his flute

so that the rocks resounded:

So la la! . . .

And he drew me down to him

and kissed me so gently, so sweetly,

and I said "blow again"

and the good-heated lad blew:

So la la! . . .

My peace of mind is now lost,

my joy has flown away,

and I hear in my ears

only the old tones of

So la la, le ralla! . . .

**A/N: So, Bella's starting to get closer to the truth, and Edward's found a gift in Alice. Where do you think this could lead? **

**You know the drill: reviews get a teaser for the next chapter, and your wild speculation makes me unreasonably happy. **


	7. Gifts

**Ch. 7 Gifts**

**A/N: Thanks to glorious beta NelsonSmandela, who not only catches me when I fall but will do it after midnight; to cabr, who asked for it; to the amazing Adorablecullens, who made this story a thread over on the Twilighted forums; and to everyone who reads and comments and keeps me going with your enthusiasm. Together, we will get Edward to loosen up, I promise. **

**Chapter Music (via youtube):**

**Erik Satie Gymnopedes #1**

**/watch?v=GAR0WkIQ6mg&feature=related**

**Bartok, 22 duets for 2 violins (my fav starts at 0:55)**

**/watch?v=Pj5lT-Fy_aU**

**~oЖo~**

When I was much younger and still living with Renee in Phoenix, I was in our back yard playing, and saw a wasp hovering near a fence post. I froze, terrified that the wasp would sting me. As if it could read my mind, the wasp abandoned whatever it had been doing to do just that. It was as if my fears had pulled the wasp in and invited the sharp stinger to sink into the skinny flesh just above my ankle. As if my fears called for the fire that shot through my leg, making me cry out for my mother.

I had gone to Renee and told her all about it. In her typical free-spirit fashion, she told me that wasps can, in fact, read our intentions, and that the best way to deal with stinging flying things is to wish them long and happy lives. For some strange reason, this advice actually seems to work.

I don't know why, but when I dream of the man in the alley, there's always a wasp hovering above his head. I don't dream of him very often.

I always, however, dream of Edward Cullen.

**~oЖo~**

I'm thrilled to find Edward in our usual spot on Saturday, even though finals are over. I've got a list of things to do before driving home to Forks, but this is where I really want to be. He gives me a sad little hint of a smile as I try to sneak in. I slip under the piano, even though today I'd much rather look at his face while he plays.

This is my current torture. I need to be in his ring of sound, but I can't be any closer without sitting next to him on the bench. I can't just stand in the crook of the piano and stare at him, either. Part of me loves feeling this close to him, soaking in his music and every emotion and thought he puts into it. Another part of me wants to be able to see his face and beautiful hands while he works. My thoughts become less than pure any time I get to watch his hands, and there's only so much blushing a girl can do before awkward turns into a problem. So I stay underneath, and cheat glances from under my book. This way I only get flashes of pretty, so there's less risk of humiliation. Once or twice I catch him staring at me.

Today instead of a book, I'm working on my laptop. I say I'm working, but I'm really monkeying around on Wikipedia. Edward is playing wistful music today, most of which I recognize. Wistful is sort of his default mode, I think. He starts to play one I don't know, so I ask him what it is.

"Satie, _Gymnopédies_," he murmurs.

Wikipedia gives me nearly enough information about Satie and links to a separate article on the set of three pieces that make up the _Gymnopédies_. The piece was inspired by a poem by Contamine de Latour called "Les Antiques (The Ancient)".

_Oblique et coupant l'ombre un torrent éclatant_

_Ruisselait en flots d'or sur la dalle polie_

_Où les atomes d'ambre au feu se miroitant_

_Mêlaient leur sarabande à la gymnopédie_

_Translation:  
_

_Slanting and shadow-cutting a flickering eddy_

_Trickled in gusts of gold to the shiny flagstone_

_Where the ambre atoms in the fire mirroring themselves_

_Mingled their sarabande to the gymnopaedia_

As if to answer the question barely forming in my mind as I read the final line, he starts playing the _Sarabande No. 1, _which I recognize_. _While the first piece had been melancholy but beautiful, I don't like this one at all. It's morose and funereal, with no redeeming qualities, in my opinion. This just feels like pointless wallowing. It reminds me of the way I start to panic when he gets that hopeless, angry expression on his face. It reminds me of how hard I have to work to lure him out of foul moods on the rare occasion that I can. The song makes me a little sad and a little sick. Edward without beauty makes no sense. I don't know how he can see himself this way.

Further investigation reveals that the original version of the _Sarabande_ held a dedication containing more verses by Latour:

"Damnation (La Perdition)"

_Suddenly the heavens opened and the damned fell_

_Hurtling and colliding in a gigantic whirlwind_

_And when they were alone in the sunless night_

_They discovered they were wholly black._

_Then they blasphemed._

The words blur in front of me, undulating tauntingly until a tear escapes. I'm careful to breathe quietly, happy to be under the piano where he can't see me.

Lying here, with the screen of music and instrument between us, it feels like I imagine a confessional might. Did he just make a kind of confession? Does he really feel … literally damned? If he can truly believe such a thing, doesn't he also believe in some kind of redemption? Perhaps I've become too fanciful in my research, and his playing is only connected with the mood; but knowing him, he is aware of every last detail about the historical background of every piece he plays. I don't know what he means by it, but I want to let him know I'm paying attention, at least.

"'Darkling, I listen'," I quote softly, giving him poetry for poetry.

He's still playing, and I'm wondering if he even heard me. I hold my breath, listening. The mood of the music shifts subtly from melancholy to reverie. He has shifted back to the _Gymnopédies. _I sigh in relief.

"You do, don't you?" he whispers.

I close my laptop and crawl out from under the piano to the first row of audience seating. Just before reaching the seat occupied by my backpack and coat, I stop, hesitating. I turn my head, but can't force myself to look right at him.

"I have something for you," I say, trying not to sound nervous.

There is a question in his careful approach. I finally look up, over my shoulder at him. When he's concentrating like this it's almost funny to watch. I can't say why, exactly, but he sort of looks hungry. I wonder if I'm giving him the wrong present after all. I think I've changed my mind about fifty times as to what to give him, if anything, and I'm about half an inch away from chickening out. But, I'm a Swan, and we sing till the end, guts blazing, so I take a deep breath and start to dig in my bag.

I search around for a moment and bring out a relatively large packet of brownies wrapped in tinted cellophane. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Edward's mouth drop open, but as soon as I can focus on him, he's got this totally believable fake smile plastered on.

"Jesus, Edward, I didn't make you brownies. Those are for Alice and Jasper," I say, laughing as he looks visibly relieved. "You think I don't notice your 'special diet'?"

"Special diet?" he asks, looking like I just called his mother something bad.

"Yes, Edward. I know you don't eat normal human food," I reply sheepishly, embarrassed to be revealing how much I notice his habits. "Unless you want these? I can always make more if –"

"No, that's okay," he interrupts, looking serious as a heart attack. In other words, looking like he always looks. "Please, Bella, explain what you mean by 'normal human food'_._"

Damn. I didn't mean to insult him by calling him abnormal, but still, he hasn't really made much of an effort to explain himself. I take a big, deep breath, because seriously, he must think I'm stupid.

"Number one, we've hung out together more times than I can count, and I've never seen you eat anything. Number two, remember, I've heard you talking to your parents on the phone. Your French may be better than mine, but I know I heard you talking about hunting deer. So I kind of guessed that you've got like, a freezer full of deer back in your bat cave."

"My bat cave?" he looks really surprised now. "Bella, what –"

"I'm sorry, I tend to babble when I'm nervous," I say, really unable to filter my thoughts now. "Here, Edward. This is your present."

My face is flaming, but I've found what I was looking for, and there's no turning back now. I thrust the rectangular package at him. It's wrapped in dark red paper with a bright green bow. It looks a little bit like I wrapped it with my feet, but I swear it didn't happen that way. He takes it from me cautiously and opens it. He stares at the labyrinth pattern on the leather cover, quickly tracing a route in the maze. That was all Barnes & Noble, not me, but it kind of suits us just the same.

It's a small leather book, blank when I bought it over a month ago. I started copying some of my favorite poems in it the evening after Edward first touched me. The first poem, of course, was "The Tyger"_._ The remaining poems were fairly standard; things I had studied in school that had lingered in my mind, like _The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock, _by T.S. Eliot, _Ozymandias_, by Shelly, and quite a few others by Shakespeare, Keats, and the like. I had added some that I'd found on my own, by Neruda, Teasdale, Vallejo, and a few others.I'm not much of an artist, but anyone can make a collage, so I found online what I couldn't easily draw and illustrated every poem. The first was easy, and my inspiration, because William Blake himself provided the drawing. I copied the images using a cheap watercolor set, and the overall effect was surprisingly compelling. At the time I didn't consciously make it for Edward, but once the book was finished, I knew I wanted him to have it.

Carefully he opens the cover, and I blush, knowing what he's reading.

_For Edward, and all the things I never say._

_Yours, Bella._

His head snaps up and he stares at me, speechless. I need to let him off the hook here, so I lean in and turn the next page, showing the Blake poem. A creepier-looking tiger than I had meant to paint stares back at me with a yellow, piercing eye. I'm seeing the book upside-down, and it looks all kinds of ridiculous to me now.

"It's kind of silly, I know, but I hope it's okay. You can have the brownies, if you'd prefer them to some random poetry," I say nervously, itching to take the book back before I embarrass myself further. I reach for it.

"No way, Bella. It's mine. I want it," He clutches it to his chest and shakes his head at me, smiling broadly. I'm pretty sure he's teasing me, but who can care as long as he's this happy? "I made you something, too, but I didn't bring it with me. I was planning on giving it to you tonight. You did say you're going to the Fine Arts holiday mixer, did you not?"

"Are you kidding? Alice would murder me in my sleep if I didn't go. I'm supposed to take a turn in the DJ booth. Are you going to be there?" Tonight is starting looking much, much better.

"Yes. I was going to propose that I come pick you up around seven, and we could go together. I could give you your present then. Does that sound reasonable?"

It sounded almost like a date up until you used the word _reasonable, _Edward. It kind of sounds like a date anyway. I just nod, not trusting myself with more complex vocabulary.

~oЖo~

Edward knocks on my door _precisely _at seven. I smooth my skirt and adjust my blouse, checking the mirror one last time. I open the door and feel butterflies.

"Where's my present?" I blurt, to keep myself from telling him how hot he looks.

I'm an idiot. I close my eyes and lean my head against the edge of the door, but I can still smell his enticing scent and feel his magnetic draw.

"You look lovely, Bella" he murmurs, taking my hand and placing a slim, angular package in it, no doubt a CD. I finally look at him, and his dark eyes are sparkling with amusement.

"So do you, Edward," I sigh dreamily.

He really does. He's wearing a white button-down shirt with a jacket and jeans, which doesn't sound fancy unless you notice — and boy, do I — that his clothes all appear to be perfectly tailored to his lean, athletic build. I look down at his hand still supporting mine and notice the final devastating touch: shiny cufflinks bearing some sort of intricate design. Cufflinks — though generally worn by the very rich and/or very gay — seem to be my kryptonite. This is something I would never tell Jacob or any of the guys from Forks High, but had some of them ever opted to wear cufflinks, I have no doubt that my virginity would have been long gone by now.

"Sorry," I smile apologetically, "I didn't mean to sound so greedy."

"I wouldn't think that about you," he laughs. "Usually you're the one bearing gifts."

"Only little stuff," I say dismissively. "Never anything expensive."

"Maybe, but it's always thoughtful. You notice things about people. You're frighteningly observant, you know."

Not enough to figure you out, buddy. Not yet anyway, but I will. I hide my smirk as I open the package. It's wrapped perfectly, of course, in shiny white paper with a gold ribbon. Inside is a CD. The jewel case is semi-transparent with a blue tint. The CD itself is shiny and silver. I recognize Edward's elegant penmanship in the three words written on the shiny disk:

_Lullaby for Bella_

"This is you? Something you wrote?" I ask in disbelief.

"Mm-hmm," he says, nodding. He seems embarrassed.

When he said he had made something, I didn't know if my gift had put him on the spot. I had no idea what he was going to come up with. I can't believe he did this. I start over to my computer to put it in, but he stops me.

"Not now," he says, looking pained. " Just promise me you'll listen to it over the break."

I'm really happy I took a chance with the book now. Something tells me that if I hadn't given it to him, I wouldn't have a clue now that he wrote me a song. My self-doubt starts to fade, and I look at him with new eyes. Something sparks deep inside me. I don't know what it is, but it's so strong that I almost feel I should be afraid of it, but I'm not. It feels like an oncoming train, and it's either going to flatten me or give me the ride of my life. I can still see the hesitation and regret lurking in his expressive eyes, but I no longer think it has anything to do with any inadequacy of mine.

"I'll listen to it tonight," I promise, taking his hands in mine. "Thank you."

I bring his hands closer to my face and inspect his cufflinks. They look French to me: thick and gold, with a flat surface decorated by blue and white enameled crests. On each crest a lion stands over clover, and a disembodied hand hovers over his head, topped by a heart design reminiscent of a claddagh ring.

"Your cufflinks are beautiful," I say, trying to hide any trace of impure thought in my admiring tone. My heart is beating wildly.

"It's my family crest. We all wear something representing it at all times. It's supposed to remind us of who we are." He touches one of the crests lightly, then taps it a few times and takes a deep breath.

"You _all_ wear it? How many of you are included in that 'all'?" I ask curiously.

"Five, including me. My brother, his wife, our parents."

"That sounds kind of serious, like you're trying to remember to be something … set apart, maybe, from the rest of the world?" I stare at the hand above the lion and think of Edward's formal, serious demeanor.

"That's my father. He's an amazing man, very compassionate. He would love you," he says, smiling at me softly.

I'm pretty sure my insides have melted, but I can tell he's thinking about his family, so I don't jump him. It takes a lot of willpower not to, frankly. If he weren't a good eight inches taller than me, I probably wouldn't be able to resist.

I grab my nicest coat from my tiny dorm closet, and Edward helps me into it, his hands lingering for a moment on my shoulders. I can feel his electric presence behind me, only inches away. I want to lean back into him, but something tells me not to, so I just remain still. Eventually I feel him move away, and I look up to see him holding the door open for me.

"Shall we?" he asks, like someone from a Victorian novel.

"Oh, let's," I reply, smirking.

When we get to the party, I notice that the mixing has yet to occur, except on the smokers' patio just outside the entrance to the Fine Arts atrium. I recognize a few jazz musicians from my music history classes. They all seem like stoners, but if you scratch the surface you find that they're smart as hell, second only to the pianists in order of general intelligence. Inside, acting students are clumped in together, competing for laughs and attention. There are only a few opera students, and they look pissy, as usual. A handful of dancers are testing their balance on a thin architectural ledge bordering a clump of ficus trees, and a massive showing of orchestra students swarms the refreshment tables like a hive of busy bees. I don't see any art students, though a few might have been outside smoking. You can usually tell who they are by the art stains on their clothing.

I'm wondering why the crappy techno music has stopped when a flash to our left captures my attention, and I spot Alice grinning at the screen on her digital camera.

"Here's a nice picture." She shows me, and I smile in agreement.

On the tiny screen, Edward is staring at me intently while I'm taking in the room. We're both smiling secretively. It's by far the most flattering picture I've ever seen of myself. Edward, of course, looks stunning. I hand Alice her camera, unsure as to whether Edward has seen it, because I'm too nervous to look at him at the moment.

"Send a copy to my e-mail?" I ask, a little embarrassed.

"I was planning on it," she grins.

"Would you mind sending me a copy as well?" Edward surprises me by asking.

"I was planning on that, too. Hey, Edward, would you mind terribly helping me out? Jasper and I are going to play a duet, and I would love it if you could take a lot of pictures for me. Bella, I need you to take over the DJ booth the second our set is over. Be ready when I nod at you, because there's this drama student with awful taste ruining my party play list. It's our stereo set from home, so you already know how to work the buttons. Edward, do you know how to use this camera?" You'd never guess Alice was originally from the South by how fast she's talking.

"Yes, my mother has one just like it. Nice camera, tiny boss lady." Edward flashes her a teasing half-smile as she slaps him in the arm.

"Damn, Cullen," she says. "You're way more solid than you look. Remind me never to hit you again. Good thing this is my bowing hand."

I'd be jealous, except Alice isn't flirting. Her hand is bright red, but her fingers seem to be okay as she flexes them experimentally.

Jasper approaches us carrying two violin cases. He kisses me on my cheek in greeting and nods at Edward, handing Alice one of the cases. She sets them on a nearby table and takes out her beautiful violin.

"Hey guys. You ready to watch me humiliate myself on the violin?" he jokes, stroking an amber-colored block of rosin on Alice's bow. He hands the bow to Alice and repeats the process on his own bow while she quickly tunes her violin.

"I didn't know you play," I say, delighted. So far I've seen Jasper play the piano, guitar, and double bass. He's not a flashy player, but very competent.

"Alice has been teaching me," he explains, pausing to tune his violin to hers. "I've gotten obsessed with Bartok harmonic structures recently and found these violin duos. They're hot as hell. Or maybe it's just how I feel about making music jump off the page with my pretty little gypsy girl."

It's her turn to blush as she stacks the violin cases neatly under a tucked-away podium. He kisses her neck softly and slowly until the blush deepens and she kicks his shin.

"You're in trouble, Mister," she warns menacingly, trying to compose herself.

"Oh, I'm counting on it, Angel," he grins back. "After you."

They step up to a small platform and Jasper addresses the room. He somehow looks taller, blonder, and somehow glows, and everyone stops to stare without him having to do anything drastic to get everyone's attention. His voice seems louder than usual, but completely natural and absolutely at ease.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming to the Fine Arts Student Alliance holiday mixer, especially those of you who have worked so hard to help put it together. Alice and I would like to play a little song in appreciation."

"Is Jasper in charge of something?" I ask Edward, confused.

"You didn't know? He's FASA President, for the second year now," he replies. "I'm not very involved, but he's very popular with the students and administration. He seems to have a knack for delegating and figuring out how to solve conflicts, and he makes it look completely effortless."

I'm shocked that Edward knows so much about people's opinions. He rarely talks to anyone outside of our small circle. Besides Alice, Angela, Jasper, and me, he seems incredibly uncomfortable with most people. He catches me staring at him and points to the stage as the music starts.

Alice and Jasper are utterly captivating. The music sounds Eastern European and has a sly, mysterious quality to it. Pretty soon it takes off into a glorious chase, and I see that Jasper is right. They aren't moving their feet, and they're fully clothed, but somehow they manage to infuse an undeniable eroticism into their duet. Alice plays the more challenging part gracefully, her body swaying subtly, making me think of a nymph in the woods. A coy smile plays on her face as Jasper's satyr line chases hers with relentless determination. His body bows slightly towards hers, and they seem more like a matching set than individual people, despite their differences in height and coloring.

They're both charismatic performers apart, but together they light up the small dais as if it were center stage at the Met. The song ends, and the room erupts in raucous applause. Jasper kisses Alice lightly and lingeringly on the mouth, and I can almost feel a wave of vicarious lust pass over the crowd. I sneak a glance at Edward, who is indeed staring at me with a look that burns its way down to my toes. A few hoots from the audience finally get Alice's attention, as well as mine, and she laughingly gives me the signal.

"Oops," I squeak, as though I've been caught looking at porn, and scamper off to the DJ booth. I barely make it in before an ambiguously gendered but decidedly goth-looking drama student can get to the iPod of Power. I manage to find a decent song to play while trying to recover Alice's play list.

"Hey," she breathes, taking the iPod from me before I find it. "Thanks for saving us from more bad club music."

"No problem," I smile. "Alice, that was amazing! You guys were on fire up there."

"That man is wicked." She lets out a surprisingly deep, sexy laugh, and blushes. "He sometimes does that just to energize a performance. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm the only one who gets to see the amazing after-party, if you know what I mean. Performing in front of a crowd definitely turbo-charges his libido."

"Yeah, I kind of got that impression watching you two," I laugh, surprised that I'm not more embarrassed by our risqué exchange. "Hey, I had no idea that Jasper is FASA President. How does he have time to tutor?"

"Oh, you've seen him," she explains brightly. "He hardly ever stresses out about anything, but he loves to help people solve problems. He only takes students he likes, too. He says it's a double-bubble, helping good people feels good and always comes back to help you in the end. And he's right; people are always willing to help him whenever he asks. Most of them owe him favors, though he never looks at it that way. To him it's just lots of … I don't know, positive energy flowing back and forth. If someone gets on his bad side, he usually just ignores them and they usually go away."

"What happens if they don't go away?" I ask, sensing there's more.

"Bad news for them, is what. War, and nobody's better at war than Jazz," she says ominously. "Hey, what's going on with Edward? Are you two finally officially dating or what?"

"I'm not sure," I reply honestly. "I believe you now when you tell me he likes me. But something's still holding him back."

"Better find out, girl, before you both explode in sexual frustration. I think you guys were getting close to spontaneous combustion when I was trying to get your attention a minute ago."

**~oЖo~**

I'm thinking about Alice's advice as Edward drives me back to my dorm.

"Dorms close tomorrow for the break," Edward says quietly.

"Do you live in a dorm?" I ask, finally working up the courage.

He's quiet for a moment, as if in debate. I've never seen his place, and I start to wonder if this is part of his big secret. Maybe he's got a live-in girlfriend. He's sure as hell not spending a lot of time with her if he does. Most of my waking hours involve some form of Edward's presence, even if it's mostly just catching glimpses of him at the library or in the conservatory halls.

"I have an efficiency apartment not far from here," he says, finally. "It's perfunctory, not much more than a storage unit for my music and clothes, plus a sofa and bathroom. I've got keys to the music building, and I'm usually practicing if I'm not with you."

I have to steady my breath. I feel like we're circling around the big question of what we are together, and I keep sensing some nearly unbreachable barrier between us. I'm trying to formulate some kind of question that will help me break through when he interrupts the silence.

"Are you going home for the break then?" he asks neutrally. I hate that tone.

"Yes. I drive back to Forks tomorrow," I say, unable to keep the sadness out of my voice. "Are you going to visit your family in Europe?"

I can't imagine two and a half weeks without him.

"I've been invited, of course," he replies in that same tone. "But there's something here I really need to take care of, so I'm probably going to stay in the area."

A charged silence hangs in the air. We approach the curb next to the entrance to my dorm, and he puts his car in park, leaving the engine idling.

"I'll miss you," I say so quietly I'm not sure he can hear me.

He heard me. His head whips to face me, but I can't look at him. I'm staring at my hands, willing my face to cool down.

"I've been to Forks before," he says. "It's been a long time, but I wouldn't mind driving out to see you."

"It's a three and a half hour drive," I protest. "Maybe we could meet in the middle somewhere, like Port Angeles or Port Ludlow?"

"I really don't mind driving to Forks," he laughs. "But if you'd prefer it, we could meet in Port Angeles for a movie, maybe check out the bookstore there. There are some excellent hiking spots in Olympic National Forest if you're feeling adventurous."

Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean in quickly and kiss him softly on the cheek, near the corner of his mouth. He freezes, utterly still, eyes closed. I hope I haven't just ruined everything.

"Good night, Edward," I whisper, opening the passenger door to get out.

As I'm sliding my pass-card through the security lock, Edward is there, opening the front door to the dorm for me. I'm surprised because didn't see him, so quick and silent.

"Good night, Bella," he says quietly, but he doesn't kiss me back. "Sweet dreams."

**~oЖo~**

As I pack my suitcase for the drive home, I'm more confused than ever. It would be nice to know whether I've just been asked out on my second date or my first, or if I'm a permanent resident of the Friend Zone. I take the memories of him I've been collecting all semester, and examine them one by one. I try to see each moment clearly and strip away any romantic delusions or excess doubt. Every look, caress, and word parades through my mind, seeking pattern and finding none.

I mentally lay these treasures out in front of me as carefully as the physical belongings I pack to take home. As I touch the gifts I've wrapped for Charlie, Billy, and Jake, I'm reminded of the three wise men from the Christmas story. They're not three kings, but they certainly are chiefs, and I can't wait to see them again. The thought makes me smile.

I think of Edward's final words to me tonight, and finally take out my present from him after changing into sleepwear and climbing into my narrow bed. I position my small computer speakers so that I hear them right above my head, as I do when sitting underneath the piano.

The lullaby starts out simple, just a vaguely familiar melody with a spare supporting structure. Soon, however, the lush sounds of his music wash over me relentlessly, like waves against a pier. Every phrase of the lovely melody betrays his longing. A rotating harmonic pattern whispers desire and howls in frustration. This is a clash of mind and spirit. It's a call and response with no resolution. Above it all, the hypnotic melody holds steady, never quite overpowered by the chaotic chords beneath. I'm overwhelmed by the complexity of it all, but somehow, I fall asleep.

**A/N: Canzone**** Twilighted Forum exists! Music suggestions also welcome, as long as it's not Phillip Glass, for the sake of Algie's fragile something.**

**Twilighted (dot) ?f=33&t=5051&p=580706&e=580706**

**ALSO, there is an outtake of this chapter, of what happens when Jasper and Alice go home from the party. Over in the outtakes. Where they go.  
**


	8. Back of My Hand

**Ch. 8 Back of My Hand**

**A/N: Props to NelsonSmandela for being ever the patient and speedy beta, AngryBadgerGirl for an excellent tip or two, and Algonquinrt for some glorious music selections.**

**The answer to last question's chapter is on the Twilighted thread. Props to Kokopuffs for coming closest to the right answer, although everyone had great ideas. **

**You may have noticed that the Cullen family wasn't in Forks for Bella's high school years. In fact, for the purpose of this story, the family has not lived near Forks since the days of Ephraim Black. Without vampire neighbors for the Quileutes, we see a very different situation happening on the Rez. **

**Disclaimer: All her Twilights are belong to SMeyer. **

**Chapter Music, found on youtube and also in the Canzone thread on Twilighted:**

**Gemma Hayes, **_**Back of My Hand:**_

**/watch?v=mMh-Y2IWJZc**

**Gian Carlo Menotti, **_**Monica's Waltz**_** from **_**The Medium**_

**/watch?v=fhFiIhDHu-M**

**Ralph Vaughan Williams, **_**Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis**_**. Pt.1 /watch?v=8c3XvNZ3ns4**

~oЖo~

Felicia is the name of my official roommate. In reality, she lives with her boyfriend a few blocks away in his one-bedroom apartment. Therefore, I'm shocked as hell to see her and her parents pass by me in the hallway as I carry my suitcase and a big box to my truck. The only reason I recognize her at all is because her side of the room is decorated with pictures of her with her friends from high school.

I almost wish her a happy holiday, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't even recognize me. While I'm not keen on lying to her parents, I'm also not keen on stirring up trouble. It's the least I can do in exchange for a cheap private room. Felicia's dad even helps me with the box when I stumble trying to get the door. I don't have to go back in there anyway, and all of my pictures are in this box. Felicia's secrets are safe for the moment.

Secrets.

While I've never been one to volunteer a lot of information to people outside of my small social sphere, I've never felt particularly secretive. Until now. I know Felicia's biggest secret from her parents, but I don't really know her outside of this one cumbersome bit of information. I hate lying to people unless there's a really good reason to do it. Felicia's love life is none of my business, but in truth I've been dreading the day her parents pop in for a surprise visit. My escape plan pretty much involved a sudden burning desire to practice and a mad dash to the Music School.

My voice professor, the famous tenor Emil George, wants me to keep a couple of secrets from everyone as well. First, I'm not to share with anyone that I'm applying to study in Volterra, Italy, next year. I can't even tell my parents until the Volturi family decides whether or not I'm accepted into the program. I may or may not have told Charlie and Renee on my own, but it's really weird that I'm not allowed to. Something about it just doesn't sit right with me. Money isn't the issue; the way the program works, I'm either going with a full scholarship, or I'm not going at all. If I don't make it into the program, I'm not to discuss it with anyone; and even if I do, I'm never to utter the name Volturi to anyone at all. For the most part, I adore Professor George. He is, however, secretive to the point of eccentricity.

For example, there's the way he gave me my latest assignment. Right after I had finished singing my final exam for Applied Voice, Dr. George pounced on me and acted as if he was handing me some highly classified documents instead of an ordinary aria.

_~oЖo~ _

"_Wonderful work, my dear, wonderful,"_ he said effusively as Edward and I walked off the stage. "You've come so very far in just one semester. I had a feeling that placing you with the right pianist would do you a world of good.

"Edward, your playing was perfection, as always," he said over his shoulder, taking me aside for a moment.

He pressed a letter-sized manila envelope into my hands, and I opened it. It contained sheet music and two unlabeled CDs.

"Now, Isabella, I want you to learn this aria over the break. Have it memorized and ready to go," he said sternly. "Listen to the whole opera at least ten times through, and try to learn as much of Monica's role as you can. A little bird told me that the undergraduates are doing _The Medium _next semester, and nobody looks and sounds more the part than you. They almost never cast freshmen, but you've got a fighting chance. Oh, and don't tell any of your friends about it. There's no reason to tip off the competition if you don't have to."

"Can I at least tell Edward and my parents about this one?" I inquired warily. I don't have very many friends among the singers, except Angela, who's a mezzo-soprano anyway, and wouldn't be competing with me.

"Yes, of course, go ahead and tell Edward. He never talks to anyone anyway. See if you can get him to rehearse with you over the break if you can. I doubt he'd say no, not with the way he looks at you," he said observantly.

I looked at him sharply, but he didn't seem overly diabolical. He wasn't rubbing his hands together or winking conspiratorially. Dr. George is always going on about how competitive the world of opera is, and how you have to psych yourself and your competition out all the time, while never resorting to nastiness.

The truth is, he's one of the most honest and kind professors I know, and one of the best musicians, too. I can't really fault him for being competitive. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't have had such a successful career. There's something about his manner that just not something I want to emulate. I certainly can't fault him for wanting to help me, and as much as it's troubling to think he was doing a little matchmaking in order to boost my career, I can't possibly blame him for putting me with Edward. I really hope Edward never caught on, if that was in fact Dr. George's original intent.

Edward stood waiting for me just out of earshot, looking suspiciously at Dr. George during our interaction. I wished the professor a happy holiday, and went to join him.

"You'll never guess what that was all about," I said, shaking my head.

"Sure I can," he said smugly, with what looked like — could it be? — a sly smile on Edward Cullen's normally sullen face?

"No, you can't," I insisted.

"I can!" he protested, amused.

"Go ahead, then, big shot. Dazzle me," I challenged, calling him on his bull.

"If you insist," he smirked. "He just gave you _Monica's Waltz_ to learn over the holidays because the undergraduate opera lab is putting on _The Medium_. He doesn't want you to tell anybody about it except for me and maybe your parents. He thinks you can persuade me to practice with you over the break."

I stopped in my tracks, staring at him.

"You can read lips?" I asked incredulously. _"That is so cool."_

_~oЖo~ _

While loading up my truck and checking my tires, I start thinking about my biggest secret. I'm completely crazy about moody, lip-reading, deer-hunting Edward Cullen. The only people who know the extent of it are Alice and Jasper, and they figured it out on their own. I don't even think Edward knows exactly how I feel, although our mutual attraction is pretty hard to miss, and my Christmas present certainly hinted at it. Are we dating? If I have to ask, the answer is probably no, right? Still, all those mixed messages. The song he wrote for me, and we're meeting in Port Angeles in one week and two days. Is it a date? Can I expect e-mails, texts, a phone call? Should I e-mail him?

I fire up Bertha and set my iPod to "Genius." Someone at Apple must be more psychic than genius, because immediately the exact, right song for my mood comes on: "Back of My Hand" by Gemma Hayes. Alice got me hooked on one of her albums a while back, asking me if I'd learn one of Hayes' songs to play with her at Keys one night. I haven't done it yet, but I decide it's time to memorize this song, so I put it on repeat. I'm on the third play of the song by the time I make it onto Highway 16, and it takes me all the way to Bremerton before it gets out of my system.

Next, I listen to my assigned aria, an odd, but rather pretty, song by Menotti about a teenage girl playing make-believe with a mute teenage boy. I go ahead and listen to the entire opera, because it only takes an hour, and I've got at least two hours left in my drive. The whole opera is a spooky, sad thing, and my aria is probably the happiest thing in it. It's full of secrets and tragedy. By the time the opera has ended, I'm already on the Olympic Highway, and I'm crying a little, but I don't think it's just the sad music. I feel like all these secrets are changing me too quickly, and I need to clear my head. I wish I could wash it clean of other people's secrets. I can barely handle my own.

I just want to go home and be me again. For the last leg of the drive I listen to Ralph Vaughan Williams' _Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis_. I see less and less water, and more and more forest as I keep driving, and I start to feel better. I turn up the volume and let the transcendent quality of this glorious music wash through me. A feeling of vibrant calm replaces my brief sadness. I know who I am, as long as I have this.

Even so, I know that some of my secrets will follow me.

~oЖo~

When I finally pull in the driveway, I barely have enough time for a tender, awkward hug with Charlie before Billy and Jake pull up in the driveway behind me. I can't help but wonder if they had that planned. The Blacks and Swans interact better together than we do apart, ever since Jake's mom died. Jake is a little bit taller than he was at the end of the summer, which is to say not tall and not short for a guy his age, but he's still got baby cheeks and no face stubble at all. He hugs me, hard, until I finally say "uncle."

Charlie takes my suitcase and cardboard box into the house and up to my room before I can protest. We head into the kitchen, and I check out the sad state of the pantry and refrigerator while Charlie and Jake hover around me like lost, confused sheep. Billy is the only person with the presence of mind to make polite conversation.

"So, tell me about this music school, Bella," he says, ever the social glue of our cobbled-together family.

I'm writing a grocery list as I tell them all about my first awful week at school, Professor George, and my new friends. Of course, I omit certain details, like my concussion and all events leading up to it. Billy's ears perk up when I mention Edward's last name in passing.

"Cullen?" he says, frowning. "What's his first name again?"

"Edward," I mutter, hiding my face in the freezer as I try to find anything besides goddamned fish. I haven't eaten fish all semester, but my hatred of it hasn't waned in the slightest.

"Is he related to a Carlisle Cullen?" he asks ominously.

"Carlisle?" I've never heard Edward mention any of his family's first names at all. "No, I've never heard the name Carlisle. I know the town called Carlisle, a couple hours south of here, but I've never actually heard of a person named Carlisle."

Billy is silent, but he exchanges glances with Jake, who rolls his eyes obnoxiously.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, son," Billy scolds in a no-nonsense tone. "This is your business, too."

"Okay, Dad," Jake nods, catching the seriousness of Billy's tone.

"Hey Jake, you want to go with me to the store or stay here and watch the game?" I ask, knowing damn well what he's going to pick.

~oЖo~

As we walk through the aisles of the grocery store, I try to look nonchalant.

"What was with that weird look between you and your dad back in the kitchen?" I ask curiously, squeezing an avocado.

"Just some old legend stuff I'm supposed to know and take seriously if I'm going to take Dad's place on the tribal council someday," he says, picking up the same avocado that I just put down and squeezing it.

"Yeah? About some dude named Carlisle? That sounds kind of weird," I murmur absently, not making any eye contact with Jake.

He hates it when I do that.

"Weird? That's the most normal part of the story," he stage whispers, trying to get my attention.

"Oh yeah? What's the weird part?" I look right at him now, to encourage the word vomit.

It's not really fair of me, but whenever I, the police chief's daughter, decide to interrogate Jake, the Quileute chief's son, he folds like a cheap suit. I'm kind of disappointed in him, really. I'd like to try out advanced techniques, but pretty much anything that works on a dog works on Jake. He just wants attention, affection, and a full belly, and he'll tell you whatever it is you need to know.

"Okay, but you can't tell anyone I told you, because it's supposed to be this big secret," he says dramatically. He looks around, but there aren't any Quileutes around to hear. "My great-grandfather, Ephraim Black, apparently made some kind of deal with this immortal demon, one of the Cold Ones, a man named Carlisle Cullen."

"Cold Ones?" I ask, rubbing my right forearm absently.

"Yeah, you guys have legends about them, too, only call them vampires. They're supposed to be as cold as ice, with red glowing eyes and skin like stone."

"That doesn't sound like vampires," I argue.

"They drink blood from people."

"All right now, that does sound like vampires," I laugh. "So why would Ephraim make a deal with Carlisle Cullen?"

"Because Carlisle and his family were different," Jake whispers, now in full storyteller mode. "Ephraim and a few others found out what they were because they were drinking from animals in the forest. This Carlisle persuaded him that he meant no harm to people, so Ephraim and the other tribal elders made a treaty, forbidding the Cullens use of tribal land in exchange for our silence with the palefaces."

~oЖo~

Jake helps me put everything away, and I throw a family-sized frozen lasagna in the oven. There will be real cooking later, but not tonight, my lovelies. I feel kind of bad about my laziness, so I open a bag of salad mix and dump it unceremoniously into a big bowl with some walnuts and dried cranberries. There. Balance is beautiful. I set the timer and motion with my head for Jake to head outside with me.

"You've gotten taller," I observe, as Jake walks out the front door in front of me.

_Edward would have held it for me_, I think, and immediately feel guilty. Jake isn't Edward, and it's not fair to compare them.

"You noticed! I'm so close to six feet I'm just gonna go ahead and claim it."

"So what else is new on the Rez?" I inquire.

"Sam and Leah Uley just had their baby last Friday!" he says smiling.

"Amazingly premature, wasn't it? Their wedding was in July!" I laugh. "What did they have, and what did they name it?"

"Yeah, premature at nine pounds, six ounces," he smirks. "He's a boy, and they're calling him Harry Levi Uley."

"Harry I get, but Levi? That's an odd name."

"They wanted a name from both sides of the family," Jake explains. "Sam's dad abandoned his mom, but she always told them stories about her grandfather, Levi, so they did that for her."

"That's great! I'll have to take them a dinner — some cookies for sure, and maybe a pan of casserole or something. Do you know what Leah likes?"

"Oh you know, she really likes your beef stroganoff. I will personally see that she gets it," he says rubbing his stomach.

"You know I'll make you your favorite stroganoff, Jake," I laugh, poking him in his belly as we walk out in the front yard. "You don't have to steal from babies and brand new moms to get it. What kind of monster are you?"

"A hungry one" he complains. "With you gone it's diner food and fish fry all the damn time."

I get on the old rope-and-board swing my dad made for me when I was a kid, and Jacob starts pushing me, but not hard, like he used to when we were younger. He seems to want to say something, so I wait for him, humming the lullaby Edward wrote for me.

"That's a pretty song," he says, then pauses for a long time. "Man, Bella, you seem so … different now. You were always quiet, but now you're mysterious — untouchable somehow. You're not the same girl I kissed last summer," he says softly.

A thunderous crack echoes from within the woods just beyond my house, and we both look up with a jolt.

"What the hell was that?" I ask, a hand over my galloping heart. "It sounded like thunder."

"Probably just a branch breaking close by. They get loud sometimes," he says dismissively. "So, are you seeing someone? Come on, there is someone, isn't there? I can tell."

"Yes," I admit softly, my cheeks warm.

"It's that Cullen guy, the one who plays for you, isn't it?"

"Am I that obvious?" I ask morosely.

"No, it was a guess, but that blush is a dead giveaway," he teases with a bratty laugh. "So what's the deal, are you two dating?"

"I think so."

"Ugh, please do not tell me you're hooking up and don't know where you stand, Bella," he says with a dark scowl. "Because I will seriously have to put the beat-down on that shady fucker."

"Are you high, Jake? It's me we're talking about." _Notwithstanding the cufflinks situation, that is_, I add silently. "No, it's the opposite problem. Edward is a total gentleman. I'm almost certain he likes me, but he's never even kissed me."

"He's gay. He's _so_ gay," Jake nods, smirking.

"He's not gay. My gaydar works just fine, thank you very much. He wouldn't be sniffing my hair, composing music for me, and staring at my mouth like he does if he didn't _want_ to kiss me. He pretty much told me that he thinks he doesn't deserve me for some reason. I had to sport a concussion for him to even touch me at all."

"Were his hands cold like ice? Did he creep you out? Maybe he's one of _those _Cullens." Jake's voice gets fake spooky, and he put his hands out like a zombie and starts to imitate Count Chocula. "Maybe — he vants — to suck — your blood, Isabella."

"Yeah, jackass, I'm sure that's it. Clearly, vampires exist, and I'm dating one," I snort. "Maybe that's my thing; maybe I'm just into secret identity guys."

"You know, my people are descended from wolves." He grins, teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Does this mean I'll have a chance with you if I start howling at the moon and go all _Thriller_ on you?"

"Yes, Jake, _then_ and only then will you have a chance with me," I giggle, shaking my head. "No fangs, no love. I'm sorry, but that's just the way nature made me."

"What?!" he yelps in mock indignation. "You want fangs, I'll show you fangs, little girl. You better run, Bella!"

He holds up his hands in a B-movie werewolf pose and howls like a doofus.

"Oooh, I'm scared!" I laugh and jump off the swing, feeling like a little kid again.

I take off running through the woods, happy to be wearing my old winter uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and thick hoodie. I know this path like the back of my hand, but that doesn't stop me from tripping over an exposed root right before getting to the old "home base" tree.

"What have we here?" he says in a stupid, high-pitched voice. "Are you reverting back to the epic klutzy Bella who moved here four years ago, or did you just fall on purpose so I'd catch you and kiss you again?"

He waggles his eyebrows and gets down on all fours, trapping me underneath him. He starts tickling me, so I punch him in the solar plexus. While he's wheezing I make it to home base and scramble up to the lowest branch. He looks really funny scowling at me, and I can't help but laugh.

"In your dreams, wolf-boy. I've had hotter kisses from my dead grandma."

"That is just straight up nasty, Bella Swan," he says, looking like he just ate a lemon. "Necrophilia is nothing to joke about. So you're telling me you'd rather kiss a vampire or a corpse than me, huh? Ouch, Bella, you wound me! Maybe it's not secret identities you're into but doin' it with dead people. You need some serious professional psychiatric help."

"Gross! I meant while she was alive, and it wasn't hot, you perv. It's just that you're like a kid brother, Jake. Besides, vampires aren't dead. They're un-dead. And even if your legend was true and Edward Cullen really was a vampire, then yes, I would still rather kiss him than you or anyone else."

"That is seriously sick, Bella. You'd kiss a blood-sucking undead monster?" he's looking at me almost like we're having a serious conversation.

I guess in a way we are, because I'm telling the truth. It makes me feel a little nervous to realize it.

"Hey, the legend says they hunt animals, not people, right?" I counter, trying to keep it in the realm of mythology. "I don't see how that's any worse than barbeque. He'd be a good vamp, not a bad one. He would be like Angel on Buffy. What's wrong with that?"

"He'd probably have to turn you into a vampire, too. Otherwise you'd get old while he stays the same. Then he'd have to dump you for a younger, hotter, far more coordinated slayer. Anyway, Buffy and Angel didn't stay together, remember? She started humping that military dude and then Spike. Some true love that was."

"Not their fault! It was the gypsy curse that kept them apart. It totally doesn't matter, because this is an increasingly stupid conversation. As much as I want to live in the Buffyverse, vampires don't exist. Jeez, I must look like hell. I hope this isn't poison ivy," I say, picking leaves out of my hair.

"It's not poison ivy, you depressingly ignorant girl," Jake smirks. Then his smile fades and he looks at me kind of dreamily. "And you don't look like hell at all. You always look really pretty."

Jake is so stubborn. He's got nothing on me, though. I need to get through to him, so I get serious, too. I slide down from the branch and cross my arms over my chest. He rolls over and hides his eyes by draping an arm over his face. Sure, hide now, chipmunk cheeks. Even though he's gotten taller he still looks like a kid to me.

"Come on, Jake," I say softly. "We're joking around, but you need to listen. I love you like a sister loves a brother. It's always been that way for me, and it's always going to be like that. You know me; I don't change. I'm like Charlie that way. Look at his house! You'd think Mom still lives there, and she's been gone for almost 16 years."

"But you said this Cullen guy hasn't even kissed you yet," he argues. "You can't tell me you feel like Charlie feels about Renee. They were married with a kid, for fuck's sake. You can't tell me it's like that."

"Look, Jake, I don't want to talk about it." I feel like I've said too much already and am on the verge of saying a whole lot more. I'm not ready to hear it, much less say it.

"Fuck, Bella, don't cry," he whispers roughly, getting up to come closer. "That's cheating. Don't fucking cry, come on. Shit, what am I supposed to do?"

"Shut up, I'm not crying!" I sniff, wiping tears from my cheeks.

"Okay, Bella, it's okay. Shhhh, it's okay. I'll stop being a jerk." Jake puts his arms around me and hugs me sweetly, like a brother. He soothes me this way for a moment.

"Oh yeah? How will I recognize you then?" I tease, trying to smile in spite of my emotional outburst, because he looks so upset.

I don't have a tissue, so I sniff a little more and take some deep breaths. If it were anybody but Jake I'd be embarrassed, but he always has a way of making me feel comfortable. At least, when he's not trying to kiss me.

"I didn't mean I'd stop being a jerk permanently, just until you stop crying," he says, grinning at me. "And if I catch you under any mistletoe I'm going to plant a big one on you and make you change your mind."

"Ugh, you are so stubborn," I say, wrenching myself out of his arms. "If you try I will knee you so hard in the crotch, fair warning."

"Worth it!" he laughs. "OW!"

I hear a dull thunk right when he yells and see Jacob rubbing his head. We look up and around but don't see anything out of the ordinary.

"What happened, flying squirrel hit you?" I ask, inspecting his scalp for damage. He's got a lot of hair and a super-thick skull. "I don't see any blood. It would take a lot to break something this dense."

"Can't be, they're nocturnal," he says, shuddering. "Something must have fallen out of the tree from really high up, like a pine cone. It fucking hurt."

"Aww, come on, wittle baby woof boy. Let's go back inside where the big bad trees can't hurt you. I'll make you some hot chocolate."

"You're so mean, Bella. So mean."

"With marshmallows."

"That's better."

~oЖo~

Lying in my old bed, I try to sleep, but can't, so I put Edward's Lullaby on and fill the room with his music. I wrap myself in a blanket and sit on the ledge of my open window. I stare at the moon as it arcs across the sky. I wonder if he's looking at the moon, too, and I lean out and try to see as many stars as I can. The air is cool, and it reminds of Edward's gentle hands on my head.

The Lullaby repeats again, and I settle into my rocking chair to enjoy it. I don't remember falling asleep.

At some point in the night, I must have gotten up, because the next morning I wake up warm and cozy, tucked neatly into bed.

~oЖo~

**A/N: The indie twific award voting is in full swing. Thanks to you, my lovelies, I've been nom-nommed thrice, for Best AU WIP, Use of Music as Inspiration, and Most Original Plot! So please go vote for all your favorite indiefics. It's a great way to find good, lesser-known fics, too.**

**Go to theindietwificawards (dot) com to cast your vote!**

**Reviews get teasers, you know, for a certain "date" type situation chapter. **

**Check my profile to feel my poll, if you know what I mean.**


	9. I Put a Spell on You

**Chapter 9- I Put a Spell on You**

**A/N: Thanks to: Amazing beta NelsonSmandela, who, like Algonquinrt and Feisty Young Beden, helped me find exactly the music I wanted for this chapter. A big kiss to Ninapolitan, for saying nice things about this story on the **_**very**_** entertaining Twigasm podcast, which pwns me so hard I can't listen to it and drive at the same time. If you haven't listened to it yet, and you're old enough to listen to very naughty things, go and do so. If you aren't old enough to hear and read naughty things, this might be about the time you stop reading this story. *cough***

**Disclaimer: I own neither Twilight, nor the poetry of e.e. cummings, Pablo Neruda, nor any of this glorious music. **

**Chapter Music, all highly recommended for maximum pleasure and understanding of this chapter. This music will explain so much more than the words alone:**

**Nina Simone, **_**I Put a Spell on You**_**:**

**(youtube) /watch?v=8Y99tXNxV5s**

**Lauridsen **_**O magnum mysterium**_

**(youtube) /watch?v=cHOtfLvrjI8**

**Heitor Villa-Lobos, **_**Bachiana Brasileira nº 5 **_**sung by Bidu Sayão**

**(youtube) /watch?v=bLZD0XplYrI**

**Manu Delago, **_**Hung Drum Solo**_

**(youtube) /watch?v=TQXn5ba0aT8**

**Eisley, **_**Marvelous Things**_

**(check the Twilighted forum for this link)**

~oЖo~

It's Christmas morning, and I'm slightly afraid to leave my bed. As strange as it sounds, this is the first Christmas I can remember spending with Charlie, and I have no idea how the two of us are supposed to make things festive or what he expects of me. I'd give my right arm for Renee, Jake, or Alice to be here. I'm just working up the courage to get up and face the awkward when the phone rings. I look at the caller ID and smile.

"Merry Christmas, Mom!"

"Merry Christmas, Baby!" Renee yells. I can hear strange, festive music in the background, melodic drums of some kind, and the sound of people partying. She's three hours ahead, so it's got to be just after noon in Jacksonville. That doesn't sound like Jacksonville. This sounds like a late-night commercial for horrible spring-break-themed videos.

"Where are you, Renee?" I ask, bracing myself.

"Cancun, baby! Yeah!" I can hear the broad smile in her voice as a chorus of young male voices nearby echoes her answer. "Oh, I wish you were here! There's so much going on; you wouldn't believe it! Concerts and beach volleyball, Christmas lights up everywhere, but it's still warm enough to wear a bikini. Oh and for some reason there are lots of camera crews on the beach — one of them is trying to get my attention right now. I'll wait till we're finished talking to find out what they want."

"Renee!" I start to panic. "Mom, please, please, just promise me if someone comes up to you with a camera you won't take your top off?"

"Come on, Bella, I'm just messing with you," she laughs delightedly. "Phil's been glued to my side ever since someone offered me a 'Hot MILF' t-shirt at the pool yesterday_. _I'm pleasantly surprised to find you've watched enough TV to know about these things. Now tell me about this delicious young Edward. You hit that yet?"

"Have I _what_?" I am deeply regretting sending her that picture of us together at the mixer. "You got the picture already? I just sent it last night."

"Yeah, it's on my phone. Bella, sweetie, he is adorable. That fine boy is giving you _the look _if I ever saw it. _You_ still look like a virgin," she says in a bewilderingly accusatory tone.

I take it all back — I'd definitely rather face Charlie at this point.

"Oh God," I groan. "I should go, Renee. Maybe I should make pancakes if Charlie isn't up yet."

"What? That doesn't sound like him," she says skeptically. "Charlie's probably been up for hours by now. Wait, you two aren't hiding from each other, are you?"

"There may be some slight awkwardness going on here, yes," I admit begrudgingly.

"Honey, he loves you. Just take your present for him, put it on his plate while you cook breakfast, and give him a big hug when you see him. It's easy. Well, it'd be easier if you weren't so exactly alike."

"I know. How long have you been in Mexico? Did you get the package?"

"The neighbor told me one arrived, thanks, sweetie. Oh, hey that reminds me. I sent your presents to Charlie, but don't open the bigger one in front of him, okay?"

"What did you do?" I gasp.

"It's nothing bad, just a pretty nightgown. Edward will love it."

"Jesus."

"That's the idea. You have a good Christmas and say hi to your father for me, okay? I love you baby."

"I love you too, Mom. Give my love to Phil, okay?"

I've missed Charlie. Missing him is a strange sensation, but only slightly stranger than being in his presence can be at times. Charlie and I are so much alike, and so deeply private, that often his presence feels all at once resonant, comforting, and redundant. We can always respond to the lightheartedness of others, but left to our own devices, we become too serious, our combined gravitas threatening to sink us under an ocean of silence. We are two citadels, separated by a single staircase**. **

It's comforting and confusing all at once. Often I feel a swelling of affection for him, particularly during reunions or special occasions, only to panic, not knowing what to do with such excesses of emotion. I would invariably look into his eyes and see my own feelings mirrored there, followed by relief and companionable silence. We take care of each other in our own way. For him it's chains on my truck tires on an icy day. For me it's cooking him heart-healthy meals he actually likes. It's our way of saying that which would feel too dramatic, too embarrassing to say out loud.

I take the presents out of my suitcase and go downstairs to take Renee's advice.

**~oЖo~**

Approaching the glass windows in the green-bricked Odyssey bookshop in Port Angeles a few days later, I check my reflection one last time. It's only been a week since I've seen Edward, but for some reason I feel nervous about my appearance. I think maybe a week in my old tomboy ways might have erased whatever Edward may have seen in me. It's difficult to imagine that any appeal I might have for him would be fragile, fleeting. I think of the lullaby he wrote for me, and shiver. Could he have written the song for someone else, but recorded it as a gift?

I see him across the store, sitting on a step-stool in front of the classics. He's balancing a used hardcover in one hand, and he's flipping the pages at fast-paced intervals. He's turning too quickly to be really reading, so I assume he's scanning for a familiar passage. He hasn't seen me yet, so I take a rare moment to stare at him.

Edward's fine-boned face is drawn into a familiar, tense expression. A very slight scowl purses his lips, and his expressive eyebrows indicate either concentration or disapproval of something. I used to see this look on his face all the time, but lately he's been looking less austere. It makes me wonder what he's reading.

A gust of warm air from a heating vent hits the back of my neck, and I remove my coat, still staring. Edward inhales sensually, as if he's savoring an alluring perfume or a delicious baked good. I wonder if he loves the smell of books as much as I do. This is when he turns his head and scans the crowd. Unwilling to be caught staring, I start walking towards him just before he sees me. His face lights up brighter than any Christmas tree I've ever seen, and I can't help but smile back in wonder.

For me. His face lights up _for me._

"Have you been waiting long?" I ask as we approach each other.

"Only about a hundred years," he jokes, and I look at my cell for the time, alarmed to think I might have been standing there gawking at him longer than I thought.

"Relax, Bella. I'm kidding. I haven't been here long at all."

"Marcus Aurelius seems to say otherwise," I nod at the book in his hand, finally able to read the cover. "One of my dad's favorites."

"Not one of yours?" he asks curiously.

"I like him very much," I insist. "There's a lot of comforting logic in there. I particularly like it when he reminds me that it's irrational to expect others to behave rationally. My father tends to read him whenever his work gets more dark-sided than boring."

"I imagine being the Sheriff of a small town would be mostly boring," he says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

My breath catches, not only from this intimate action. Mentally I'm raking over the details of every conversation we've ever had. I don't recall ever mentioning Charlie's occupation. I decide to let it pass and quietly add it to the growing pile of missing pieces.

"Well, his work pretty much deals with traffic violations and the occasional prank gone wrong, but every now and then someone finds a body in the woods, or someone gets shot. He doesn't say much, but when the _Meditations _comes out, I know something's bothering him."

"I take it he's not religious, then?"

"It's kind of hard to tell with Charlie. He's almost impossible to read," I begin, and notice Edward's arched eyebrow. "What?"

"Just like his daughter, I see." He's giving me that focused look again, like he's trying to read my mind.

I wish he wouldn't do that. It makes my heart flutter and my knees shake, not to mention the abrupt changes in blood flow.

"Me? Are you kidding? I'd sell my soul to never blush again," I say, covering my cheeks as they redden.

Edward's smile falls and his eyes soften as he takes my hands from my face, turning one so that one of his cool knuckles barely skims the slope of my cheek.

"Don't say that, Bella," he murmurs. "I adore the way you blush."

Apparently my blush adores him right back, because my skin where he touched it becomes a blazing trail. I forget all language but that of Edward's sweet cool breath on my flaming face until his voice interrupts.

"You said you wanted to look for some new reading material?" he asks, frowning again as he replaces Marcus Aurelius on the bookshelf behind him.

I have to hold onto the bookshelves to keep from falling as he looks around the shop. I try to hide my humiliation while taking a steadying breath. He may light up for me, but I am clearly the one more beguiled than beguiling in this relationship.

"Yes, but the bookseller who usually gives me the best recommendations isn't working today," I say glumly.

"I think I've got a handle on your taste," he says with a little smile. "Let me pick out something for you?"

"Lay one on me," I say without thinking.

His eyes widen slightly, and the smile shifts from cheeky to something that makes me very nervous.

"What's your favorite book?" I ask him, covering my tracks.

That seems to distract him for a moment, but eventually he shakes his head.

"Impossible question. It would be difficult to choose a favorite author or genre, even."

"I guess that makes sense if I think about it. What of your favorites do you think I would like to read?"

"You really liked the Bulgakov, right?" he asks.

"Oh yes! I don't think I've ever read anything like it. Should I read more of him?" I ask, as we approach the beginning of the alphabet in the fiction/literature section.

"What about this?" he asks, pulling a thick black and blue paperback.

"Angela mentioned I should read Borges if I liked the Bulgakov. _Collected Fictions_? Why not 'short stories'?" I inquire, more of the book than Edward.

He's disappeared somewhere, so I start flipping through it and read one at random. It's only half a page long, but it's one of the most amazing things I've ever read.

"I love this," I breathe excitedly as Edward reappears with a small bag bearing the bookshop's name.

"I'm glad to hear it," he grins, looking at the identical copy he just purchased. "I was going to add this to my collection if you didn't want it, but I really want you to have it."

"What? Edward, no," I protest. "I didn't mean for you to buy me anything."

His smile fades.

"You don't want me buying you anything?" he says, looking a little hurt.

"I didn't buy you anything!" I confess, flustered. "I'm not very comfortable accepting gifts when I don't have anything to give in return. Will you let me get the movie tickets at least?"

He seems slightly mollified, but gets a stubborn glint in his eye.

"How about this: you take the book, read it, mark it up however you want to, and it lives with you, but I reserve the right to visit it any time I want."

"That seems … fair," I mumble stupidly, trying not to think about the implications involved with Edward visiting me any time he wants to. "Deal. But I still want to pay for the movie."

"You're stubborn," Edward observes disapprovingly.

He tucks the book into my large coat pocket, taking time to secure it with a snap. I laugh and hold out my right hand as if we're meeting for the first time.

"Have you met me?" I tease, as he takes my hand in his and stares at it. "Though I'm pretty sure you could give me a run for my money on that front."

He brings his hands together, engulfing mine completely. He seems mesmerized by the sight of my arm disappearing into his hands in what looks for all the world like a prayerful pose.

"Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands." He whispers so softly that I barely hear him.

If this keeps up, I'm going to pass out by the end of the date. Nobody has ever said anything remotely like that to me.

"Is that from a poem?" I ask faintly, trying to refrain from embarrassing myself this time.

The question snaps him out of his reverie, and he releases my hand with a sad smile.

"Yes. I can recite it for you later, if you like." He frowns a little, as if immediately regretting making the offer.

"I'd like that. I love the way you read aloud," I say, thinking of the hospital waiting room.

I would walk for five days through the desert to listen to him read the fine print in prescription drug advertisements.

"I forgot to ask how your holiday is going so far," he asks, changing gears. "Are you having a good time with your family and … old friends?"

"Sure, I guess. Just family, really," I reply, a little confused at the abrupt shift in conversation.

"Oh? No running into any old boyfriends?" he presses, looking at a display of vintage map calendars as if he would like it to explode.

He looks … seriously jealous. I can't believe my eyes, but his expression is clear.

"Old boyfriends?" I laugh a bit louder than expected, surprised at the question.

Edward is not amused.

"Yes, you know, old beaus, boys you used to date back in high school, or perhaps over the summers," he glances nervously at me.

"I'm sorry to report that the sad state of my dating history is practically non-existent," I shrug.

"Practically?" he looks a little relieved, but not entirely. "What's wrong with the boys at your school? Why didn't they ask you out?"

"I got asked to dances sometimes," I shrug. "But I don't dance. Oh! I did go to prom my junior year. That was really awkward."

"Awkward?"

"Yeah, I went with this guy, Tyler Crowley. Nice guy, really, but kind of delusional. I think he only asked me because he felt guilty for hitting me with his van."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Edward's tone is quiet, but it gives me the chills nonetheless.

"I wasn't really hurt," I say quickly. "I had just buckled my seatbelt when his van hit a patch of ice, and he smashed into Bertha, my battle-axe of a truck. Tyler was far more injured than I was, but he was so freaked out about the possibility of my dad taking away his driver's license that he pestered me to go out with him. I told him I couldn't go to one dance with him, and I vaguely recall him saying something about still having prom."

"And he just assumed you would go to prom with him?" he asks, smiling.

"Yeah, and the best part about it was that he didn't even mention it again!" I laugh, remembering vividly. "I was just making dinner for Charlie one night when there's a knock on the door, and Tyler standing there in a big smile and a tuxedo."

Edward cracks up along with me, and it occurs to me that this is the first time I've ever seen him really laugh. I've seen him with many wry smiles and the occasional quiet, private laugh, but this willingly shared, audible expression of amusement is a new thing. I feel like giving myself a medal.

"So, what did you do?" he asks curiously, still smiling.

"What could I do? I went upstairs, dug my nicest dress out of my closet, slapped on some mascara, and went with him."

"And did he ask you out again?" he says, looking jealous again. I know I shouldn't like that, but coming from him it's kind of hot.

"I forgot to mention that when I finally came downstairs from getting ready, my dad was cleaning all his guns, and Tyler looked like he was going to pass out. I don't know if anyone ever told him that trying to kiss the chief-of-police's ass by dating his daughter was not the brightest move he could make. He was a complete gentleman that night, but he never asked me again, no."

"I really can't see you dating someone so dense."

"Tyler was sweet, but to be completely honest, neither can I," I confess. "Hence, the not dating till college. I think my father is extremely pleased about that. My mother, on the other hand, sends me embarrassing lingerie and even more embarrassing articles clipped out of _Cosmo_."

"She does?" Edward's thick eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I don't really know anything about her."

"She does," I mutter. "Renee — that's my mom —lives in Jacksonville with her husband, Phil. She's kind of a free spirit. He's a minor-league baseball player. They're, um, in Cancun right now."

"So you said you've seen mostly family," he continues. "If your mother is in Mexico, who else is there in Forks besides Charlie?"

"Well, they're not technically blood relatives, but my dad's best friend, Billy Black, and his son, Jacob, feel like family."

"Hmm," he says, eyes narrowing.

He seems like he really wants to say something but is hesitant. I take the opportunity to get a question of my own in.

"We've been talking for a while about my family," I interrupt his internal monologue. "You must be missing yours."

I'm probably ruining some really eloquent brooding, but thinking about Jake has reminded me of something.

"Tell me about your family. You said there are four besides you?"

"I think we're missing the movie," Edward says, looking at his watch. "Do you want to catch the next one?"

I narrow my eyes at him. He thinks he's so smooth, and I guess he really is, but I'm starting to catch on to his sneaky little ways. I don't know whether he's avoiding talking about his parents or if he just tricked me out of paying for us at the movies, or both. I give him a look to tell him I'm on to him before glancing outside. The sun is pretty much gone now, but the sky is clear and a beautiful shade of deep blue, turning almost purple.

"We missed the sunset, but I'd much rather go walk along the waterfront and watch the stars come out. Would you mind?"

**~oЖo~**

We walk down a couple of blocks to the pier, stopping only to put our books in our cars. The air is pretty cold, and I button my coat up around my neck.

"Are you warm enough?" Edward asks, looking concerned.

He starts taking off his coat, so I stop him.

"I'm fine," I say, smiling at his chivalry. "But thank you, Edward."

I catch him smiling when I say his name.

"Did you get whatever it was keeping you from visiting your parents taken care of?" I ask curiously.

"So far, so good," he grins back, as if enjoying a private joke.

"Tell me about your family," I ask again. "When did they go to France?"

"About four years ago," he says, frowning. "I studied piano at a conservatory in Paris, while my mother studied art. She had always dreamed of learning different painting techniques. My father, I told you about him. He's a surgeon, and had a special invitation to teach some innovative surgical techniques at Paris Descartes University."

"And your brother?" I ask, slipping my hands in my coat pockets.

"Emmett?" he smiles broadly. "Emmett's pretty much up for anything, as long as he has Rosalie. She loves France. She was really the mastermind behind the family's relocation. Once she heard about my father's invitation to teach in Paris, it didn't take her long to persuade Esme—my mother- to follow her dream of studying art on the banks of the Seine."

"So, you were dragged along?" I ask, thinking about how odd the names in his family seem.

"Yes, but I didn't mind so much. Have you been, or were you just really good at French in school?" he asks curiously, as we walk east.

I spot one bright planet and one faint star above the water. I close my eyes and wish.

"I just went for a summer exchange," I say, smiling at the memory. "We started out in Paris, and I took some classes with a bunch of kids from all over the world. Then I went to Montpellier with my host family. They had a girl my age, and we tried to hang out. We didn't really have much in common. She didn't like to read, andI don't really care all that much about fashion."

"You always seem well-turned-out to me," he said, though I notice a little mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Thank you, but I can't really take credit. Surely you know about Dr. George's rules?" I ask, and he nods. "I don't really care about fashion, but I know what I like. Alice knows a couple of excellent thrift stores and has a gift for picking out things that look good on me. I really don't spend any more time on it than absolutely necessary. If it were up to me you'd probably only see me in jeans and hoodies."

"Did Alice dress you this morning?" he says, smiling at the fluttering hem of my skirt and sleek, brown, medium-heeled boots.

_Yes. _I am definitely not telling him about my panicked teleconference this morning.

The sidewalk curves with the water's edge, and we soon come to a wooded copse. Out of habit I peer into the woods. As we walk I notice birds flying away from us in all directions, leaving behind an eerie silence. I'm not paying attention to where I'm walking, and I stumble on what I truly hope is an uneven part of the pavement. My hands are wedged too deeply in my pockets to effectively brace myself against the impact, and in a flash I see the ground rush up to meet my face. I have only the slightest moment to hope that I won't need stitches this time when I feel strong arms around me and the whole process reversing.

"Thank you,"I wince, embarrassed. "Would you believe it if I told you I'm much more graceful than I used to be?"

"I'll take your word for it," he muses, not letting me go for just a few moments longer than necessary. He leans in close before looking away. "This looks like a nice place to stop and watch the stars."

We stop in a grassy strip between the walkway and the water. He takes off his thick wool coat and spreads it out on the ground. He sits, and I lie down beside him to stare at the sky.

"I love the sound of the water against the rocks," I murmur, but he doesn't say anything. He's just staring at me, and it's making me nervous. "Hey, Edward, you're looking in the wrong direction. Stars up there." I point.

He just smirks at me and keeps staring. This is getting unnerving. _Just kiss me already if you're going to. _The distance between us seems unbearable.

"Lie down beside me," I say, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. "You're making me nervous."

"Bossy, aren't we?" he smirks. "Make me."

I gasp and poke him under the arm. Whenever I poke Jake in that spot he yelps in a totally amusing, high-pitched voice. Edward just rolls his eyes and gently traps my poking hand in his. I see no reason to back down just yet, and soon he's got my other hand as well. To an onlooker it would probably look as if we're just sweetly cuddling, but I'm completely trapped.

"Do you give up yet?" He grins wickedly.

I shiver at the sight of his shiny teeth and eyes, but I'm also strangely turned on. I know he wouldn't hurt me.

"You're stronger than you look," I concede, without technically admitting defeat.

"A fact for which I am eternally grateful," he says gently, loosening his hold and placing his lips against my hands.

Oh my.

"Me too," I recall, attempting to recover. "If you hadn't been there in that alley…"

"Speaking of which, I want to ask you something, but if it makes you uncomfortable, please just say so," he says, carefully. "What were you thinking about when I showed up? You were whispering something, but it didn't make much sense."

"It didn't make much sense to me either," I confess. "I don't know what I said, but what I was thinking — it was a combination of a Blake poem and some kind of last-minute prayer. I was absolutely certain he was going to kill me if you hadn't shown up."

" 'The Tyger?' " he asks. "That is an odd thing to be thinking about. Do you pray much?"

"Not really, no."

"Do you believe in God?" he asks, seriously.

I can't help but think of his musical **'**confession' and wonder again if he thinks he's damned. The question seems important, so I take my time in answering it.

"That depends on what I'm doing," I finally reply.

He blinks at me in surprise.

"Well, it does."

"That was not one of the answers I was expecting," he says, shaking his head. "Can you explain what you mean?"

"Well," I begin, searching my coat pocket for my iPod. "Most of the time, I'm pretty sure that everything is natural. Rational. The scientific method is wonderful. Look at everything people can do. We've got the Internet, space travel, we can read our genes and measure the age of the earth and the distance of stars. I look around and see that most everything makes sense if your primary goal is to see things clearly."

"What about the rest of the time?" he says, taking an earbud when I offer it to him.

He stretches his arm behind me, hand on the ground to support us both while we sit. I instinctively snuggle into his side as I look for the choral piece I want, the Lauridsen _O magnum mysterium_. We lean back a bit, listen, and watch as the very highest, darkest part of the sky above us turns a deep bluish black and begins to show a glimmer of faint twinkling. The exquisite voices, without aid of musical instruments, seem to echo the emerging stars. The deep sparkling black seems almost like the pupil of a giant, blue, all-seeing eye. The stars, the music, the gentle lapping of water against the stones nearby: all are delicate, ageless, relentless, and very nearly endless. I find Edward's hand behind me and with my fingertip lightly trace figure eights on his skin.

"I don't have words for this," I say softly, as the song ends. "But it doesn't make me feel insignificant. It makes me feel … magnified somehow, because I can even witness such beauty. I don't know what it means when other people say they believe in a god. But I can understand _why_ they do when I feel like this."

The iPod shuffles to Villa-Lobos, and we keep listening. Edward is silent. I wait several minutes before speaking again.

"Edward?" I ask.

"Bella."

"Do you think …" I can't bring myself to ask the rest of the question in my mind. It's too personal, too invasive, so I change course mid-sentence. "What do you feel when you're playing? Is it anything like this?"

"Somewhat," he says. "Though at this moment, I'm passive, helpless against it. When I'm playing it's more in my control."

Sounds like someone likes to be in control.

"This is what it feels like under the piano when you play," I confess, "when I move into your column."

He smiles down at me. "Column?"

"It's what I call it," I say, feeling foolish. "But it's like that Henry Vaughan poem: 'like a ring of pure and endless light'. When conditions are right and something extra happens with the music, it becomes almost architectural, or like rushing water. I'm not explaining it right."

"No, I understand what you mean," he kindly interrupts as I start to get flustered. "I think of it as 'flow'. A book* by that title came out about this subject about 20 years ago. Actually, you're rather poetic about it. Don't sell yourself short. Do you write poetry, or do you just like to read it?"

"Oh, no, I don't write poetry. I just like reading it. I never even asked if you like poetry," I whisper, feeling vulnerable again.

"I most certainly do _now_," he declares, dipping his head down to speak directly into my ear. "A most fascinating mix of poems you assembled, Bella. Let's see, what was my most favorite and least expected selection? Ah yes, Neruda, _**Sonnet Eighty-One. _Now how does that go?_"_

I hold my breath, thinking of how much I debated whether or not to rip that page out, once I had decided to give the book to Edward. I remain silent, and he speaks again.

"Oh yes. I recall now," his voice gets deeper and silkier.

"_And now you're mine_," he quotes.

My eyes roll backward into my head from the sensation of his voice on my ears. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning as he continues to recite the words that make me think of every dream I have of him, night after night.

"_Rest with your dream in my dream._

_Love and pain and work should all sleep, now._

_The night turns on its invisible wheels,_

_and you are pure beside me as a sleeping ember._

"_No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,_

_we will go together, over the waters of time._

_No one else will travel through the shadows with me,_

_only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon._"

As cold as it is, I feel as though my blood has been replaced by lava. He takes my hand and strokes it softly against his cool cheek as he continues to torture me. I reach higher and thread my fingers into his wild hair, my breath hitching.

"_Your hands have already opened their delicate fists_

_and let their soft drifting signs drop away; _

_your eyes closed like two gray wings, and I move_

"_after, following the folding water you carry, that carries_

_me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny._

_Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all_**."**

He leans in and kisses my neck, right below my ear, and I turn my head towards him. Our foreheads touch, and his nose grazes mine as his lips come so close to mine I can feel the vibration when he speaks next.

"Do you know what poem always makes me think of you?" he asks instead of kissing me, as I completely expect him to by now. I'd do it myself, except I seem to be thoroughly hypnotized.

I shake my head, wondering why I seem capable of that, but incapable of closing the gap between us.

"There's one by e.e. cummings"he says, and dips his head back to my ear.

I wonder if everyone's ears are a major erogenous zone or if it's possible that only Edward can connect the nerves of my neck and ear with every other nerve in my body. I feel like a vibrating string, every cell pulsing, chanting _Edward._

He begins:

"_somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond  
any experience, your eyes have their silence:  
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,  
or which i cannot touch because they are too near_

"_your slightest look easily will unclose me  
though i have closed myself as fingers,  
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens  
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose_

"_or if your wish be to close me, i and_

_my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,  
as when the heart of this flower imagines  
the snow carefully everywhere descending;_

"_nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals  
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture_ —"

Here he pauses to kiss my neck softly, repeatedly, right where I feel it pulsing. He groans and stops, leaning his forehead against my hair, and continues to speak. I can't help but moan as his lips graze my ear with every other word.

"_compels me with the color of its countries,  
rendering death and forever with each breathing_

"_(i do not know what it is about you that closes  
and opens; only something in me understands  
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands_."

"You said that last part in the bookstore," I remember somehow after a long, breathless moment.

His lips find my forehead, then my nose. He hesitates again, just shy of kissing my mouth.

"What is it, Edward?" I ask in frustration when he pulls away again. "You're driving me insane. Is it my breath?" I wonder if the sweetness of his breath indicates some foulness of my own.

"No, Love," he promises, pulling even further away. "No, your breath is perfectly fine, smells like cinnamon."

Yes, well, I damn well try to make sure it does.

"Then what? What is it I'm doing wrong?"

He seems so sad.

"I'm not —" he pauses, looking gloomily at the water. "I'm not good for you, Bella. I'm a horrible person in some ways; I've done things I can never take back. You'll probably get hurt, just by being around me. I know I owe you an explanation, but I can't even explain myself. The right thing to do would be to keep your distance."

"I don't want an explanation, and I don't want to go anywhere," I argue, getting annoyed with his emo tendencies. I'm finally feeling frustrated enough to speak plainly. "I just want you. Can you please stop telling me what you should want and tell me what you do want? It would really help keep me from losing my mind right now."

"Bella, I want what you want, more than you know," he says, making my heart race. "But it's more complicated than that. I wish I could find some way to explain it to you without making more of a mess than I already have. Let me talk to my father. I just need Carlisle's perspective."

_Click._

"Oh," I say lamely, omitting the three very unladylike words that follow silently in my mind.

"Come on, we'd better get going. It's getting late."

He gets up and offers me his hand. I take it because honestly I have no fucking clue what else to do at this point.

~oЖo~

I randomly push buttons on my iPod as I watch Edward's retreating form. I had kissed his cheek goodbye, numbly noticing his smooth, cool skin, sweet scent, and gentle smile. I had noticed these things before. As I drive home, the iPod genius decides I need to listen to some spooky hung drum music. Well played, genius.

I stop at a gas station to refill my tank and buy a hot cup of sickly-sweet truck-stop cappuccino, cut with decaf coffee and some skim milk. It's an unholy concoction, but if I ever get to sleep tonight it will be a miracle anyway, so I might as well stay alert on the road.

I get back into Bertha and praise her for her trustiness. Eisley's "Marvelous Things" plays as the shock wears off, and I can hear the nearly audible sound of many small puzzle pieces clicking together in my brain, thanks to the unexpected, wholly accidental appearance of the final piece.

_Carlisle. _

It makes no fucking sense whatsoever. It's just a legend, right?

Yellow-orange dashes from the center of the road register in my peripheral vision as I re-examine my collection of moments with Edward in light of what I now know him to be. My rational mind strains under the weight of all those pieces coming together, of what he saved me from in the alley, what I know from observing him. Every piece fits now, but it still doesn't make any sense.

It makes no sense whatsoever. But it's undeniably true.

And it absolutely makes no fucking difference to me.

~oЖo~

I finally get home, and Charlie looks at me in surprise. He was long gone fishing when I had left for Port Angeles.

"Find what you were looking for?" he asks, looking at my package from the bookstore.

"And then some," I reply truthfully. "I'm exhausted. Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Bella," he calls after me.

I trudge up stairs like my feet have weights tied to them. I take a shower to try to relax, washing my hair twice and shaving everything once. The hot water finally runs out, and I give up. When I come back into my room, I hesitate in my normal routine.

Still in my robe, I set up my speakers and find what I want to hear. Only Nina Simone can help me figure this shit out.

_Everyone _has_ gone to the moon, Nina_, I think, and manage to smile.

I catch myself smiling in the mirror. I look very much as I do in the photo from the party. It's lying on my dresser, so I take it and stare at it, touching Edward's image. He's still the same man he was when he played Debussy for me as I read under his piano. He's still the same man who saved me from that … other one.

_That other vampire_… I force myself to think the word.

He's the same Edward who watched over me, holding my aching head and waking me up every hour to make sure I didn't die. He's the same Edward who kissed me and told me he wasn't good enough for me. I close my eyes, remembering how odd I used to think his hunting fixation was. Suddenly, his deer hunting has become the least creepy thing about him. Now it's downright noble.

"Yes, you are a bad, bad boy, Edward," I whisper. "But you're trying to be good. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Nina Simone finishes begging in heartbreaking French, and her voice gains an amazing confidence in the next song_. _I envy her. Could I ever be like that? Like Nina, or Renee, or every French woman I've ever met? I wonder if there's any Renee in me at all. I look in the mirror. Charlie's serious eyes, Renee's full lips. Charlie's deep brown hair, Renee's cheekbones. Renee's figure. I could do worse. I've always noticed the way men look at her. Edward's attentions have added something else to my appearance, but I couldn't say what. In spite of the shower, my body is still on fire from Edward's voice, his kisses, his touch. My usual t-shirt and shorts sleepwear seems to be all wrong for tonight.

Renee's "extra" gift is lying still unopened in my suitcase. I tear off the shiny paper, and gasp when I lift the lid on the box. This isn't what I expected. I'd seen bits of Renee's lingerie collection in the laundry room on occasion, and it always embarrassed me. No, this nightgown was definitely more my speed. I take it out of the box and marvel at the vintage silk and lace. It reminds me of something Rita Hayworth wore in a 1940's era pin-up photo. It's elegant. I can't resist and put it on, looking in the mirror again. My hair hangs in damp, slightly curling locks, and I can almost see the kind of woman who could say what Nina's singing.

_I put a spell on you, because you're mine._

Take that, Edward Cullen. You might be a vampire, but I'm yours, anyway.

Sink or swim time, once more.

Either that or I've lost my mind.

I change the music to Edward's lullaby, and lie back in my bed, letting his song be the one to lull me to sleep in spite of everything.

_~oЖo~_

_I am walking down a long road, and it forks into two well-worn paths._

_Signpost says, Someone goes on a trip meets a stranger coming to town._

_I'm the stranger on the journey, coming to town. _

_I meet myself._

_I look down both paths and see copies of me, walking away, coming back. _

_Hundreds of Bellas._

_Edward._

_Edward comes to me; my heart races. He comes closer, walks right through me. I turn to see him greet another Bella and take her hand, tenderly._

_Another Edward comes, with yellow tyger-eyes. This is not my Edward, either. He sees a Bella, this time a slightly younger version of me. He runs away. She walks relentlessly in his direction. She _will_ catch him, I can tell. I know that look._

_Another Edward runs to me, races nearly right through me, and I feel the force of this one as he finds his Bella right behind me. He picks her up and swings her around so that they pass through me. I step into their joyful twirl. They are pure love, bright bliss, deep kiss. _

_He takes off her clothes, ripping fabric as he goes. _

_And_

_I_

_am _

_naked._

_You are mine, he says to her through my ears._

_Yes, she answers. Yours, always. _

_This is enough for him, finally. I must remember this._

_His lips are warm, devouring her mouth._

_Yes, she says, yes. I've waited so long for you. _

_No waiting now, he says, meeting flesh in pale peach jubilation._

_I move my face to meet their kiss, _

_And slide, shiver-sided to reach for his hands with my hip_

_he takes hers, bracing, his tongue slides down_

_to taste her, and I arch as she does, _

_Yes, Edward, yes_

_I feel the whisper-tangle of their ghost tornado as he thrusts inside her. It is not enough for me. It is everything to her. She cries out again, and I feel the echo of her quake __**—**_

_She moans. I shiver._

_I cannot feel enough, but still I take it in. _

_I envy them. _

_They swirl around me, and I feel them as one now, circling faster, now invisible, now inside me, vivid as a memory, tickling my understanding._

_More Edwards walk by: _

_Red eye, Black eye, Cat Eye._

_A fight, a chase, a murder: Scenes shift so quickly, I almost miss his arrival._

_Finally he is here. I know him by the buzzing, _

_I know him because the volume gets turned up, my senses sharpen, _

_His scent spirals, lilac branches meet clover bees, sunshine-sweet._

_This one is for me. _

_I know him by his black eyes burning right into mine, not that of some other Bella._

_All other Bellas and Edwards fade away as he approaches, save the memory of still-thrusting specters in my memory. _

_They shiver. I moan._

"_The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses." I tell him, and mean it._

_My Edward stops, arms' length away. His arms' length, not mine._

"_Nobody, not even the rain has such small hands." He has come to worship, from afar._

_I _must_ close this gap. My limbs are heavier than they look — these ghost Bellas have it easy to move so lightly in this thick air. _

_A force of will, and I move forward. The ripped clothing of earlier Bellas falls away from me, and my Edward gasps._

_I move into his cool hands, my limbs like slowest sea-creatures. _

_His hands swirl in coolest whispery feathertips, gliding. _

_I arch into the flowing movements, my lucky-slick motion catches him, a slippery glide into my own tremor, a slow shaking low on the Richter, but deep in other magnitudes._

"_Edward, love. Let me touch you."_

"_Bella," he whisper-moans. His black coal eyes glow, and I've got him._

"_And now you are mine," I tell him, but I think he knows._

_He runs away._

_I _will_ catch him, I can tell._

**_~oЖo~_**

**A/N: Edward wants you to read his EPOV of the end of this chapter before you read chapter 10. It's the first one in the outtakes.**

****The original Neruda:**

**_SONETO LXXXI_**

**_Ya eres mía. Reposa con tu sueño en mi sueño.  
Amor, dolor, trabajos, deben dormir ahora.  
Gira la noche sobre sus invisibles ruedas  
y junto a mí eres pura como el ámbar dormido._**

**_Ninguna más, amor, dormirá con mis sueños.  
Irás, iremos juntos por las aguas del tiempo.  
Ninguna viajará por la sombra conmigo,  
sólo tú, siempreviva, siempre sol, siempre luna._**

**_Ya tus manos abrieron los puños delicados  
y dejaron caer suaves signos sin rumbo,  
tus ojos se cerraron como dos alas grises,_**

**_mientras yo sigo el agua que llevas y me lleva:  
la noche, el mundo, el viento devanan su destino,  
y ya no soy sin ti sino sólo tu sueño._**

*** **_**Flow**_**, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. (Pronounced "Chicks send me high") Excellent book, I highly recommend it, and any other book that gets mentioned in this fic.**

**All the music videos and the Rita Hayworth pin-up in question are up on the Canzone threat in the Twilighted forums, link in my profile. Come play!  
**


	10. Lady Gloom and Her Hornets

**Ch. 10 Lady Gloom and Her Hornets**

**PLEASE READ this A/N: If you haven't found it already, I've posted an outtake of the night in the previous chapter from Edward's point of view, called **_**Under Her Spell.**_** I know some people really want EPOV, and in this case, I'll make an exception. He's got a little explaining to do, as you will see below. **

**Big thanks to speed-beta NelsonSmandela, and to Feisty Young Beden for allowing me to use the Menotti as long as it is plot-related. It totally is, you h00r. See?**

**Music (via Youtube):**

**Martha Wainwright: **_**I Will Internalize**_

**/watch?v=-d_zRf_xaxg**

**Chopin: Nocturne in E minor (played by Sviatoslav Richter)**

**/watch?v=vHAOrjgIfbg**

**Chopin: Fantasie Impromptu op.66 in C# minor (played by Arthur Rubinstein)**

**/watch?v=Elox0npFTGI**

**Also mentioned for several chapters: Giancarlo Menotti's **_**The Medium**_

**/watch?v=RAcADZ0J_kI**

_**The Black Swan**_

**/watch?v=VhnoNzKMT7w**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I even lost my snood.**

~oЖo~

I'm driving back tomorrow, and I feel like there's only one night left to be the old me. Hours, even. I take this opportunity to hang out in my oldest, most comfortable sweats and t-shirt, and listen to Martha Wainwright while folding and sorting hot, sweet-smelling clothes.

Nothing makes the split between old me and new me clearer than having to organize my clothes and pack for the trip home. My freshly laundered clothing goes into two distinct piles: music school and Forks. Woman and child. Nothing says "woman" more than the clothes I've raided from the attic: Renee's old things from before she left. They fit me perfectly.

She was into the vintage look back then, and I find clothes not only from the early '90s, but also decades before that as well. Renee used to say that she hated the trends of the time, and that she really had wanted to look like Stevie Nicks circa 1977, meaning gypsy clothes in silk, velvet, and lace. Some of it is way too much for my taste, and I'm giving it to Alice if she wants it, but I can definitely see pairing a little bit of dramatic flair with otherwise clean, classic lines. I could never be as wild as Renee.

I carefully avoid the nightgown until there's nothing left to pack. I'm kind of afraid of it, or if I'm being honest, of myself in it. I haven't worn it since the night I found out that Edward wants me as much as I want him. It also happens to have been the night I found out he's a vampire. That sure as hell complicates things, but it doesn't change them.

Edward had kissed my hands, ears, neck, and face, while avoiding my lips. He stared at my lips so much I knew it wasn't a matter of not wanting to kiss them. It must have something to do with being a vampire. I wonder if the dizzy spells I get every time he's close to kissing me have anything to do with it. I can almost taste his sweet breath, and the memory is thrilling, but not dizzying.

It's my own response that really unnerves me.

The wild dream I had that night must have gotten pretty physical. It's been years since I sleepwalked, but I wouldn't be surprised if I had that night. I woke up the next morning completely naked, my nightgown wadded up on the floor. I had wild, tangled hair and small bruises on my hips and shoulders. They don't hurt at all, but when you're as clumsy and as pale as I am, you spend a lot of time playing the "what made that bruise?" game. I am losing.

I couldn't figure out the origin of the little circular dots for the life of me.

I end up packing the nightgown in my suitcase to take back with me.

~oЖo~

I haven't figured out a way to tell Edward what I know.

I've thought of writing him a letter, an e-mail, even a text. I thought about telling him over the phone during my last week in Forks, but in our two short conversations, it didn't come up. In a way, I want him to tell me. Sometimes I think he wants to.

He's holding back, quite a bit. If I hadn't figured out his big secret I'd probably be a basket case with his running hot and cold all the time. I give myself one week to figure out how to deal with this mess.

"I owe you an apology," he announces quietly when we meet before the audition. He stands about two feet away from me. His arms' length, not mine.

"For what?" I ask, biting back the rest of my question. _For being a vampire?_

"For treating you inappropriately last Saturday night, Bella," he says, eyes cast downward. "I only want to show you respect, at all times."

He looks really guilty.

"Hey," I say, stepping closer. "You do. You always treat me with respect, and I really appreciate it."

"I didn't," he insists. "But I will from now on. I promise."

I take his hands and for a moment I think he'll pull away, but he doesn't.

"I promise," I say gingerly, "that I will let you know if anything you do offends me in any way."

"Bella," he kisses the top of my head, and pulls back, looking so sad I want to do something to make him feel better.

It's time to start heading over to the audition, however, and so certainly not the right time to open up the whole vampire discussion yet. That will certainly take more than five minutes.

"Edward," I say in what I hope is a quiet, clear voice, not letting go of his hands. "I believe your intentions are good and that you'd never harm me on purpose. Am I right?"

"Yes, absolutely. That is true." He relaxes visibly but still looks like he feels guilty.

"Then we're good." I conclude, knowing full well we've got major unfinished business. "Can you try to cheer up a bit so I don't mess up this audition?"

"I can do that," he says, relaxing completely. That big faker.

~oЖo~

"Bella, I love your mom," Alice poses dramatically in a too-long black dress, a matching snood holding in most of her long, dark hair.

Ladies and Gentlemen: Renee Higgenbotham's prom outfit.

It was. I've got the pictures to prove it, too. They hadn't yet started calling it Goth back then, but that just meant she was ahead of her time.

"You look like Scarlett O'Hara in mourning," I laugh, looking up from the semester registration portal on my laptop.

"You're a conceited, black-hearted varmint, Rhett Butler, and I don't know why I let you come and see me," she huffs in what I think is probably a good imitation of Vivien Leigh and flounces off to the tiny apartment kitchen. "What are you taking this semester?"

"Professor George has my schedule completely discombobulated," I complain. "He's making me take Italian this semester, and he's having me try out for the undergraduate opera lab. I can't add the lab until I know whether I've been cast in anything, and so if I don't make it I've got to take this Early Music Ensemble instead of Chamber Singers, unless I want to take Italian at night."

"Bella, freshmen never get cast," Alice frowns. "And Chamber Singers is supposed to be really hard to get into. Why would you give that up?"

"I'm not really supposed to talk about it," I sigh. "But it's probably not too bad to tell you that he thinks I have a pretty good chance of getting cast."

"Ugh, way to start some drama, Professor George," Alice rolls her eyes. "Three years ago an undergraduate soprano got cast in the Graduate Opera, and let me tell you, there was fur flying all over the place. Those catty bitches stormed the administration office while I was in there answering phones on work-study, and I thought the whole damn world had ended by the way they carried on."

"Really? Why?" I ask, alarmed.

"Why? Are you kidding me?" Alice shakes her head. "Those roles are serious prizes to be won, especially among the sopranos. Some people never get cast, and they don't go on to get cast professionally, or even get into good doctoral programs, and probably won't even get accepted into the good summer workshops. Honey, you need to think about this audition. If you _do_ get cast, you will make some serious enemies. If you don't, you're going to lose your spot in the Chamber Singers."

"What?" I'm getting a sick feeling now. "The audition happened this morning! Why didn't anyone tell me this?"

"And how did it go?" she asks, putting her arm around my shoulders.

"Really well. Professor Adana seemed pleased, and Dr. George was there. He was beaming at me, gave me a thumbs up."

"Damn," she whispers, sympathetically. "Well, we'll deal with it if we have to. He really should have told you what to expect."

"He's famous," I shrug. "I'm sure he's so used to jealousy that he didn't even think of it."

It's weird how something that felt so good just a couple of hours ago can suddenly flip and send me into a panic. I knew that Edward hadn't been pleased about something after the audition was over, but I was trying to give him some space, so I didn't push it. He seemed just as conflicted as ever, only now I know why.

What I don't know is why his mood shifts so abruptly. It's almost as if he's responding to something said aloud. I wonder…

~oЖo~

The first day of classes starts, and the moment of truth has arrived. Will it be the opera, or will it be early music? I haven't seen Dr. George yet, but something tells me he knows already, and since he knows, I sort of know. He sent me an e-mail asking me to come to my lesson as early as possible. _We've got a lot of work cut out for us. _

As I approach the Opera Lab, I see about fifteen girls and one guy crowded around the casting list. I don't really know any of them, except for the two sopranos and one tenor from Professor George's studio. The tenor, a nice guy named Alex, smiles and winks at me. Veronica and Alicia (the sopranos) glare at me and stomp off into the theater. I move in closer as their exit makes space. I can't really get close enough to see it clearly, but I can make out that there are many smaller scenes and then the big one, _The Medium_. There are a lot of roles, and a lot of names. This makes me sigh in relief. Everyone seems to have a role, so it shouldn't be that big of a deal, right?

"Who the _**fuck**_ is Isabella Swan?" a tall, pretty brunette demands. If I look the part, then she must as well, even if she's a bit tall to play a young girl.

"My thought exactly," snarls a petite blonde, who casts a curious look at me.

"Alicia said she's a total skank who can flirt better than she can sing. She's only a fucking freshman, but she's already Dr. George's favorite."

"She's probably sleeping with him _and_ Professor Adana," laughs another brunette bitterly. "I'm a fucking senior, and I got cast as one of the three ladies? Fuck this shit. I'm going nuclear. This is un-fucking-acceptable."

"I heard she's dating Edward Cullen, too. He's her accompanist."

"She must really hit those high notes," quips one of them, as I edge my way around them into the laboratory.

I hear their voices descend into harsh whispers as my eyes sting.

_I will not cry_. I take many deep breaths and find a seat next to Alex because I'm so happy to see a non-hostile face.

"All right everyone, come in; let's get started," Dr. Adana claps. "We've got a lot of work to do."

He sees me and smiles.

"Hello, Isabella. Good to see you here, my new star." He smiles as approximately thirty hostile female faces jerk towards me in unison. "And we have your pianist, Edward, for rehearsals as a bonus this term. We've got some great scenes and a short opera. This is going to be a very good semester; I can already feel the excitement in the room."

Excitement. That's one word for it.

When Edward arrives after announcements, he smiles at me softly on his way to the piano. I try to smile back, but I keep thinking about all the murderous looks I'm getting.

Edward seems to notice this immediately, as he scans the room with a shocked look on his face. I've seen many emotions on his gorgeous mug before, but surprise has never been one of them. He stops and stares at the one soprano who said she was going "nuclear" outside. She's the only soprano who isn't either glaring at me or sneering at Edward. She actually looks kind of happy, typing away on her laptop. Edward looks like he wants to bite her head off.

Huh. Maybe he could, if she really does something bad to me. I stifle a laugh, but then it bugs me. Why would he focus on her, when she doesn't even seem upset?

He looks back at me, crooks an eyebrow, and I shrug. Hiding my cell phone, I send him a discreet little text:

_The ladies are not happy with the casting._

I don't think he's even gotten the text, but within a few seconds I get one back.

_Miss Swan, you have a gift for understatement. _

~oЖo~

"Congratulations, Isabella**.**" Dr. George shakes my hand during my lesson that afternoon. "Don't think it's time to rest on your laurels. You've got to work double time now! But this is where it starts getting really fun."

"Dr. George," I say, trying to figure out how to say this without offending him. "I had no idea that the other girls were going to get this upset. Is it true they never cast freshmen?"

"Not at all. They've cast several freshman tenors before," he intones, giving me that gimlet eye again.

"Isabella," he says sternly, "in this business, every time someone seethes with jealousy, every time starts a rumor about you—just remember: that's a prize. It's a good thing. You hold your head high and have confidence. You work hard, and don't give them a thing to hold over your head. If they lie about you, go ahead and get angry. Anger you can work with. Anger will put a sparkle in your high notes. Sadness does you no good. Don't _mourn_ because someone doesn't like you. Get good and mad, and sing with that."

"They think I…" I trail off, not knowing how to end that sentence. "And I've never even…"

"They will say all kinds of things," he interrupts, looking at me with a kind, but firm, expression. "What you do in your free time is none of my business, nor is it theirs. If I were you, I wouldn't dignify any of it with a response. If you were a different sort of person, I'd say, 'kill them with kindness,' but for you I'd say just keep quiet and dignified and work hard. There will always be people who have way more jealousy than talent, Isabella. You have talent, and you have discipline. If you follow my lead, you will get the ambition as well. I'd much rather guide someone who is as willing to practice and listen as you are. You got this on your own merit. I helped make the opportunity, but you did the work."

I nod, but deep down I think I'd rather deal with a room full of pissed-off vampires than those evil, crazy bitches.

"Now let's get started, Isabella. There's another aria in this opera for you, _The Black Swan_. You've listened to it, correct?"

"I've been working on it," I say truthfully. "It's almost memorized."

"That's my girl."

~oЖo~

Saturday finally comes, and I'm under the piano again, this time with my Italian homework. Between a five-hour language course and the opera, my pleasure reading is down to twenty minutes just before going to sleep. I'm finding it very difficult to concentrate, however, as my eyes keep focusing on Edward's feet. He's playing Chopin. Lots of it, and not the happy stuff, either.

Sometimes he tells me what he's playing; sometimes he doesn't. This one is a Nocturne, in E minor. I know because he's played it before, and I liked it so much I bought it online right as he was still playing it. I start humming along quietly. The next piece is a bit happier, and I've never heard it before.

"This is pretty," I say softly, and wait.

"Fantasie Impromptu, Opus 66," he replies quietly.

"Shall we get started on the new aria?" he asks, once the piece is over.

"Sure," I say. "Though, I really wish Dr. George had warned me about all hell breaking loose when a freshman gets a role."

"Try not to worry about it, Bella. There's always an exception. You just happen to be it."

"I didn't ask for it," I shrug, "but might as well make the best of it, eh?"

I'm already up, thumbing through my music and fishing out his copy. When I give it to him, he's scowling.

I'm starting to really love this song. Like the rest of the opera, it's modern and spooky. I can't believe this is supposed to be something my character sings to soothe her crazy, violent mother. It sounds like something out of a horror movie, which is kind of funny, if you think about it.

I can't help but steal a glance at Edward once we get to the part where I sing the words, "_I had given him a kiss of fire and a golden ring_." He pretends to ignore me, but his mouth purses slightly and his eyebrows draw together in an almost imperceptible scowl, so I turn away, knowing the next part is much worse.

I practically bury my face in the book to cover my blush, thinking of the dreams I've had of him since that night.

_Don't you hear your lover moan?  
Eyes of glass and feet of stone,  
Shells for teeth and weeds for tongue,  
Deep, deep, down in the river's bed  
He's looking for the ring.  
Eyes wide open, never asleep  
He's looking for the ring, looking for the ring._

I don't look at him, but I feel his eyes on the back of my neck. He has hit two wrong notes in the past thirty seconds. I feel something building in the air between us.

_The spools unravel and the needles break.  
The sun is buried and the stars weep.  
O black wave, O black wave take me away with you  
I will share with you my golden hair,  
And my bridal crown—_

The sound of the piano abruptly halts, and he's behind me far too quickly to be human. I can't help gasping. This is it— either he's telling me, or I'm just going to tell him what I know.

I feel the curtain of my hair as it's swept aside by cool fingers, as he kisses my neck again.

I shiver. I can't help it. He kissed me so many times in that same exact spot two weeks ago in Port Angeles, but now I feel it with new understanding.

"I'm not afraid," I say, as his arms wrap around my waist.

"You should be," he murmurs warningly into my ear. "Anyone else would be afraid right now. But not you, no. You're always the exception, aren't you?"

"Exception?" I repeat dimly. What is he going on about?

As soft as his voice is, he seems very frustrated, almost angry. But I'm still not afraid. I turn and sniff him, ecstatic to finally be this close to him again, and he laughs right in my ear. Then he starts talking gibberish.

"The way you smell, Bella," he says absently, as though talking to himself. "It's not enough that you're my singer, but you are completely silent to me as well? You had to be assigned to me when nearly everyone else chooses their pianists almost at random. You attract … the worst kinds of trouble within a 100-mile radius, and you have to go and impress the one professor who can send you to the most dangerous place on the planet. Why is that?"

"Me?" I gasp, having had just about enough of this. "I'm not going to pretend I understand half of what you're talking about, but I think it's safe to say that as far as exceptions are concerned, vampire kind of trumps human, Edward."

His arms tighten around my waist for a moment, and I gasp. Instantly he drops his arms and steps away from me.

I turn to look at him, but he's turned away from me. He's got one hand up to his face, like he's got a bad headache.

So dramatic. I cross my arms and wait.

After a long moment, he turns to me, his face unreadable.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

~oЖo~

**A/N: NelsonSmandela was all "WHAT? You can't end it there!" and I was all, "dude, you have my outline! You totes know what's going to happen." And she's like, "Oh yeah. Still…" cliffie!**

**Every single review makes me happy. Leave me one and I'll give you teaser.**


	11. Go, or Go Ahead

**Ch. 11. Go, or Go ahead**

**Thanks to fantasmic beta NelsonSmandela and music consultants Algonquinrt & Feisty Y Beden. *Post-Edit*: Thank you again to Oxymoronic8 for recommending me in her interview with The Lazy Yet Discerning Ficster. I am continually humbled when my favorite writers like to read me too.  
**

**This chapter's music is up on the Twilighted thread (link on my profile), if you want to have a handy page with all the music indexed when reading. Fangbang has reported that the final scene is particularly enhanced when listening to the Rufus Wainwright song for which this chapter is named. I would have to agree. I listened to it on repeat while writing the scene.  
**

**Chapter Music (via Youtube):**

**Bach's Cello Suite 1 IV. Sarabande (Yo-Yo Ma)**

**/watch?v=6U4a4jkoqo4**

**Beethoven's **_**Appassionata**_** Sonata Op. 57 No. 23 (Horowitz)**

**/watch?v=FqeTFgFuVQs**

**Schubert's **_**Gretchen am Spinnrade**_**, Op. 2, D. 118 (Te Kanawa)**

**/watch?v=MY0eeotSDi8**

**Rosie Thomas, **_**Pretty Dress**_

**/watch?v=-XMxwyBBywc**

**Rufus Wainwright, **_**Go, or Go Ahead**_

**/watch?v=7R07pTuxS7I**

**Scene from **_**Gaslight**_

**/watch?v=JvNQv6Ro26w**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

~oЖo~

"_The way you smell, Bella," he says absently, as though talking to himself. "It's not enough that you're my singer, but you are completely silent to me as well? You had to be assigned to me when nearly everyone else chooses their pianists almost at random. You attract … the worst kinds of trouble within a 100-mile radius, and you have to go and impress the one professor who can send you to the most dangerous place on the planet. Why is that?"_

"Me_?" I gasp, having had just about enough of this. "I'm not going to pretend I understand half of what you're talking about, but I think it's safe to say that as far as exceptions are concerned, vampire kind of trumps human, Edward."_

_His arms tighten around my waist for a moment, and I gasp. Instantly he drops his arms and steps away from me._

_I turn to look at him, but he's turned away from me. He's got one hand up to his face, like he's got a bad headache._

_So dramatic. I cross my arms and wait._

_After a long moment, he turns to me, his face unreadable._

"_I'm sorry, what did you say?"_

Now I'm scared. I'm not afraid that Edward is going to kill me, but something is not quite right with his eyes.

"I said … I said that it's probably more exceptional to find a vampire than a human."

"This is an odd moment to pick for absurdist humor, Bella," he says, tilting his head slightly, as if to indicate confusion.

"You started it," I say, narrowing my eyes at him. "And it isn't funny. I know what you are, Edward. I know you won't hurt me."

"Ha ha, Bella. You've been watching too much _Buffy_. Alice is a very bad influence on you." Now he's smiling at me, a truly devastating smile at that, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

It makes me feel nauseated. It's like he's not even in there right now, like he's been replaced by some stranger.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask, shifting my hands to cover my midsection now.

"I could ask you the same thing," he says, looking as though he's deeply concerned. This look does go all the way to his eyes. "Have you been having headaches again? Maybe we should get you another CT scan."

I think again about all the puzzle pieces, and start to get angry.

"You never eat, but you go hunting in the woods." I say.

"To hunt deer," he says, lifting an eyebrow. "Not people."

"You're too strong for your size. You scared off that guy in the alley, and he was amazingly strong … just like you. He smelled like you, too."

"We probably use the same soap," he says patiently, as if talking to a child. "I didn't even have to do anything but show up to scare him off."

"Your skin is always cold. I've never seen where you live. You move way too fast."

"I can take you to my apartment right now if you really want to see it."

"What was all that you were just saying about how I smell?" I ask, trying to stall.

So much evidence to say that something about Edward Cullen is not normal, but only one truly screams "vampire." The only piece I really have to work with is Carlisle's name attached to the legend, but if I say it I'll have broken my promise to Jacob.

"You smell wonderful. Heavenly, really," he says, coming closer and playing with my hair.

He looks at me flirtatiously, but this isn't the kind of flirting Edward has ever done with me. It's a lighthearted tease, and it matches neither the look in his eyes nor the circumstance. If someone were to very seriously accuse me of being a vampire, the last thing I'd do would be to flirt. His face is close to mine, and he's nuzzling my ear again, breathing towards my nose. I feel dizzy. More fucking proof, if I needed it. I try to jerk away, but he holds me for a second before letting go.

"Stop it, Edward, just stop it," I hiss at him. "You've been careless. You've practically begged me to figure it out, and now that I have, you're wussing out on me? Is it because I said it first? Ugh, you're such a control freak!"

This takes him by surprise for a second, as he stops to consider what I've said. For a moment I could swear he gives the universal eyebrow lift, as if to say, _Touché, you got me_. But then he puts on his jerky game-face again.

"Bella, come on. You're an incredibly logical person. Don't tell me you believe in vampires? It's just mythology." Here his face hardens. "It's childish. Be rational, please."

"I am being rational. Nothing else fits."

"You're not being serious, Bella" he scoffs. "You can't be trying to suggest that because my hands are cold and I'm a bit stronger and faster than the average man of my build, that I'm not even human? You really think that me being a vampire is the most likely explanation?"

I come within an inch of betraying my best friend and my second father, but I hold back. It's not my treaty to break, and Jacob didn't know it had any basis in reality. I know what I know, but suddenly I feel foolish anyway. I hate looking in his eyes right now because they're so wrong. I know he's lying to me. I can feel it, and hate it.

I look down because it hurts to look at his lying face. I can see his hands, and they're not lying. They're clenching and unclenching nervously at his sides, and I wonder if he's aware of them. I notice he's wearing his cufflinks, and that gives me an idea.

I grab his right hand and twist it so that the cufflink is facing up. I didn't understand the crest before, but I do now. A hand, halting a lion.

"This is why you hunt deer, Edward. Remember what you said about it?" I demand, looking into his eyes.

His mask drops away, and he's really looking at me again. He looks like I just kicked him in the gut repeatedly — that is, he looks like I feel.

"Remember when _you_ said that you believe that my intentions toward you are good, and that I would never harm you?" he counters.

"I remember."

"Please believe me when I say this with the best of intentions, Bella," he says, looking absolutely miserable. "It's not healthy for you to believe in vampires. People will think you're crazy."

Crazy.

Well, there it is: the more logical explanation I've been seeking. Maybe I'm seriously losing my mind. Fear, anger, and confusion start brewing in my midsection, and I drop his hands. He's looking at me intently now, with no lying eyes, begging me to accept what he says. My mind is racing through the clues, through the details. Anger wins out for a moment as I feel certain again.

"Why are you lying?" I ask between clenched teeth. "You're making me question my own sanity, Edward. Don't do this."

"I don't have a choice, Bella. You give me no choice."

His words could have different meanings. He could mean that my irrational accusation is not something he can ignore. Or maybe there are two Carlisle Cullens, both of them surgeons. Right.

"You could choose me," I say, shaking my head, and grab my bag.

I run out as if a monster were chasing me.

How I wish that were true.

~oЖo~

Edward seems to want to go back to our old routine, but deep down, it's killing me. There are only two options right now. Either Edward is a vampire, or I'm insane.

Alone in my room, listening to Bach cello suites, I very nearly call Renee several times, but the very thought of her erratic behavior shuts that idea down. I've never thought about her problems becoming mine. It makes me sick to think of the real reason I left when Phil moved in a little more than four years ago.

My mother was my best friend, yes, and she was a lot of fun to be around. She always has and always will have my love and devotion. She's insightful: she knows me better than anyone, and can make me laugh when nobody else can. She also gets ideas that need discouraging and mood swings from hell. There have been times when she says things that make no sense at all, but she usually chalks that up to too much alcohol.

I started making sure the bills got paid at age 10, after I realized that most kids don't live with regular power outages due to their mother's forgetfulness. Renee made a fairly regular salary from substitute teaching, but had a bad habit of leaving mail unopened for weeks at a time. I took over the cooking at age 11 after her third kitchen fire. I got us cell phones because while she often forgot to pick me up from various places, she would generally answer the phone and come when I reminded her. Out of loyalty I've never allowed myself to think of Renee's behavior as anything but childish and flighty.

Now that I've gone as far as accusing my almost-boyfriend of being a vampire, I find myself worrying if Renee's problem is something I could inherit as easily as her smile. From what I read online, schizophrenia often manifests at my age, and can be inherited. I don't know for sure if Renee is schizophrenic, or if she's bipolar or what. I do know she always means well, and I know she loves me, but my mother isn't the sanest person in the room, even when she's alone.

When Phil came along, she started leaning on him instead of me. Phil's not the brightest guy in the world, but he fell madly in love with her and wanted to take care of her. He didn't quite know what to do with me, a kid not young enough to be his own who already acted like a grown-up. He took over all those things that I used to do for Renee, and it confused me. I felt intruded upon, abandoned. I felt relief, and with that relief, guilt.

I told everyone that I moved in with Charlie at the beginning of my freshman year of high school to spend some time with him, and that was true. I told everyone that Renee and Phil should have a real honeymoon, and that was true, too. What I didn't tell anyone is that I really just wanted to be a kid for once. Just for a few years. I didn't want them looking at Renee like that. They wouldn't understand. Renee just needs someone to take care of her, and she's fine.

With Charlie, I started cooking for him right away and doing most of the shopping. It made Charlie happy, and it made me happy, too. But for the first time, I felt truly safe with him. Charlie isn't as affectionate, but I understand him, and he gets me, too. I had Jake, his sisters for a while, and Billy. Hanging out with Jake and Rachel made me feel like a child for the first time in my life. I got two years with Grandma Swan before she died, and I wouldn't trade that for a fortune. At this moment, however, I might trade it for proof of my sanity.

I shut my eyes and think about Grandma Swan, begging her, willing her to have given me whatever gene that will override Renee's crazy one. I go to the mirror and look for her in my eyes, but all I see are tears and confusion.

Edward's words haunt me. What's more likely? That he's a vampire, or that I'm losing it?

"Grandma," I plead, staring at the mirror. I take big, deep calming breaths. "I don't know what to believe. Please tell me. _Please_."

I don't hear anything from that place in my imagination where her voice usually speaks to me. I tell myself it's a good thing, but I've never felt so alone.

When I go to sleep that night, I dream of her. I feel her soft, warm bosom when she hugs me, and I can even smell the vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg on her apron. She taught me how to bake. She taught me lots of things.

"You know who you are, girl," she says to me in that spare, direct speech of hers. "And I don't like liars. You tell that boy I said so."

"I'll tell him, Grandma." I laugh, through fresh tears and a stuffy nose. "I'll tell Edward that you don't approve of liars."

I hear my lullaby then, distant in my dreams. It gets closer, and I can hear him whisper to me.

"I promise I'll keep you safe, Bella," he says, kissing me on the forehead.

"Grandma Swan says to tell you she doesn't like liars," I reply, snuggling into his cool, firm embrace.

~oЖo~

Dr. Theophilus Adana. He giveth with one hand and bitchslappeth with the other. I stand outside the opera lab, procrastinating. I'm kind of dawdling because I've seen neither Alex nor Edward, and I'm reluctant to go in there by myself.

Evidently there's a blog that's dedicated to critiquing my singing, my acting, my looks, and my intellect. No fewer than seven of these bitches have made sure to e-mail me the URL. I made the mistake of looking and got quite an eyeful before Alice found me and made me promise never to go back to it again. I can't get some of it out of my head, particularly some pretty disgusting rumors about my sex life. I find this to be an extreme case of adding insult to injury after the teasing Edward routinely unleashes on me. I only wish I had an eighth of the experience these vipers accuse me of having. Some of the things I'm supposed to have done to get this role I would've thought were physically impossible.

When I sing in rehearsal, they snicker and make faces. The nuclear brunette, who Alice and I call "Bitchsplosion," (even though her name is Christine) is the worst. She huffs and she puffs, but she just pisses me off, and damned if Dr. George isn't right about anger. The bitchier she gets, the angrier I get, and the faster I get into the column. I feel like my anger is my secret weapon. Every time I get into the zone, they shut up a bit, but the vitriol never truly stops. Dr. Adana seems pleased.

I try to hold on to my anger. It feels better than the doubt that takes over when it's gone.

My doubt comes walking down the hall, looking gorgeous as ever. He smiles at me a little sadly and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

"You look like Daniel, working up the courage to go into the lion's den," he says, kissing me on the temple. I lean into the kiss and surreptitiously sniff his neck.

I know that's not soap. There's no artificial scent; it's him. Just him.

I try not to think about it. He looks in my eyes, and I see the real him. The real Edward feels guilty, but I can't take it away from him this time. I just wish I knew what he feels guilty about. He could feel guilty for thinking the head trauma is making me bat-shit crazy, or he could feel guilty because he _is_ a vampire and he's pulling a _Gaslight_ on me, only tricking me into thinking I'm insane.

I open my mouth to speak, but there's nothing I can say. I pull away from him and go to take my place among the smug ladies who wish me dead.

~oЖo~

I listen to his music, not from under the piano, where I once belonged, but through the space between the double doors of the recital hall. I sit on the floor, holding my knees to my chest and trying not to cry, but I can feel the force of his music through the door. I can feel his longing, and mine, twisted up together.

If I'm crazy, I don't want his pity.

If he's lying, I can't pretend that everything is okay.

"Beethoven, _Appassionata,_" I hear him call softly, just loud enough for me to hear, and one defeated tear hits the floor as I squeeze my eyes shut against the power his voice has over me.

I pick myself up and walk in. I don't look at him..

I try and try, but I can't get in the zone, into the column, because my sadness is like a bouncer, blocking my way into the best club in town.

We try _Gretchen am Spinnrade*_, and suddenly I am in the zone with a vengeance. The bouncer believes me when I sing those words.

Edward plays the frantic notes as if his soul were on fire. I cannot look at him.

I know he hears me.

~oЖo~

The next week passes in much the same way, and by Friday I am worn down.

Alice and Jasper insist on taking me to Keys, though I really don't feel like it. Angela waves us to a table in her section, and we sit down.

"Edward's coming," Jasper says, watching me closely.

"You didn't tell him to, did you?" I ask, suddenly tense.

"No, I invited him. He seemed pretty eager to come, actually," Jasper scowls. "It's none of my business, but how much of your sad panda face is about this opera bullshit, and how much of it is Edward? Do you need me to kick his ass?"

My mouth hangs open. Alice puts her hand on Jasper's arm.

"Bella, what Jasper means is that you're not alone," she says calmly as Jasper huffs. "If someone has a problem with you, they have a problem with us, too."

"You don't know what that means to me," I say, feeling moved. "I hope you know I feel the same way about—"

I am interrupted by the sound of Angela's voice, barely recognizable with rage.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

A crash of plates, mugs, and cursing draws our attention to a high-walled booth a few tables over. I can't see who's in it, but Angela is standing over the table with her hands on her hips, looking like a crazed eagle swooping down on some prey. I can't see the unfortunate object of her wrath. All I can see is holy hell personified.

"As if anyone would want to listen to your pathetic screeching, you talentless, hateful bitches," she says in a cold, low voice. "I'm so goddamn sick of hearing your cock-sucking garbage spewing everywhere."

"Whoa," I say, impressed. "Did you guys know that Angela's dad is a reverend?"

"I did not," Jasper replies, craning his head to get a better view. "Does _she_ know her dad's a reverend?"

"If you monkey-fuckers had half a decent voice among you, you'd get cast ahead of any freshman," Angela continues spitefully as I start to realize what's happening. "You're a bunch of arrogant, entitled harpies. Now get the fuck out of my bar!"

"Oh, you're gonna leave before we do," Bitchsplosion declares as she and her minions emerge from the booth. "Where the fuck is your manager, Gashface?"

Fuck. Angela's going to get fired. Over me. I stand up, looking for the manager in a panic, but Jasper is already next to him, talking like old buddies. Alice takes my arm and holds me back as Angela and the she-wolves advance en masse upon them. Angela looks like a warrior-queen, her jaw set unapologetically. After a few minutes of heated discussion, Angela and her boss disappear into the back while a busboy comes to clean up the mess. Jasper returns to our table, and the vipers stand in a circle, glaring daggers at me and laughing bitterly among themselves. They look like satanic drag queens.

"Jasper, why don't you take Bella on the dance floor," Alice orders in a far-too-pleasant tone. "I feel like playing a song."

"Now?" I ask incredulously as she and Jasper exchange a loaded glance.

She closes her eyes as he kisses her forehead. It looks like a promise.

"Yes, exactly now." Alice winks over her shoulder as she makes her way over to the piano.

By the time we get out to the floor, Alice's song has begun. I love her singing — it's very clear and warm, just like she is when you get to know her. The piano part is simple, but as I recognize the song it feels like an elegant symphony to my ears. I can't stop thinking about Angela.

_Put your pretty dress on,_

_It's time for you to go to the dance_

"Smile, Bella. If you look like you did something wrong, people are going to believe those hateful bitches instead of the truth," Jasper warns.

"But Angela could get fired over this! She can't afford to lose her job, and it'll be all my fault if she does." I'm really close to crying, but somehow Jasper's presence keeps the tears at bay.

_And all the pretty princes will see you_

_All the pretty princes will see you_

"Don't you worry about that. I know the owner; I'll explain it to him. The manager already knows what's going on, and he promised he wouldn't fire her tonight. Now you have to smile, or Angela's grand gesture will be for nothing." He twirls me as Alice sings into the microphone. I think my lip might bleed, as hard as I've been gnawing on it.

_And they'll wave to you_

I see the girls whispering furiously and fight the bile building in my stomach.

_Put your red boots on_

_It's time for you to walk home from school _

_Everyone will laugh_

_They'll point fingers at you_

Alice and Jasper are making a public statement of support for me. They've worked very hard to make the kind of connections that matter at the conservatory, and now they're taking on the biggest gossips in the school because I'm socially oblivious. I feel a sob well up in my chest. I hate it that my friends are risking their jobs and their social standing for me. I feel pathetic, because I'm not worth all this trouble, but I'm also humbled by their loyalty.

"Smile, Bella." Jasper is smiling, but his tone is uncompromising.

I force a smile, but it falls as I spot Edward, glaring at the girls.

_They'll be cruel_

_But cover up your ears and don't listen_

_Because you'll know much better than them _

_Someday_

He's close enough to hear their gossip firsthand. I know several of them have made it their mission to break us up. They have no idea that their goal is practically guaranteed without any outside help. At this rate, Edward and I will be broken up before we truly get started. I just want to know one thing, before he inevitably gets so sick of me he never wants to see me again. He happens to be the only person in this room who knows whether I'm crazy or not. His eyes meet mine, but quickly shift to focus on my hand on Jasper's shoulder.

I see him glare at us briefly before Jasper turns me so I can't see the constant fuckery that has become my life since I was cast in the opera and decided Edward was a vampire.

Alice's sweet, encouraging voice wraps around me as warmly as Jasper's arms, and I start to fall apart from the earthquake inside me, from trying to hold back the tears. I'm shaking, and I can't stop.

The song is over, and I hear only the din of the restaurant. We don't move, but Alice shows up after a moment.

"I picked a good song from the jukebox," she whispers in my ear as I hug her in thanks.

"Fuck," I hear Jasper murmur. "Come on, Edward."

"He doesn't believe them, does he?" I shut my eyes and try to hide between my hair and Jasper's tall form.

"Not unless I've suddenly become a very bad judge of character," he says, and they're both patting my back like I'm five years old.

"May I?" I hear Edward's voice close by.

"Glad you're finally showing some sense, man."

Jasper steps back, and I'm in Edward's arms again. The ball has been in his court for two weeks, ever since the word _crazy_ came out of his mouth in response to the word _vampire _coming out of mine.

He holds me without saying anything, and I try to focus on the words of the song to calm down, but it's about bitterness and love, and it doesn't help. I'm still trembling.

"Bella, don't let those girls get to you. I swear, they're the most vicious creatures I've ever encountered, and that's saying something," he jokes as he lightly rubs my back.

I can't trust myself to speak, so I focus on breathing.

"Why won't you talk to me any more?" he asks, lifting my chin to stare into my eyes. "You talk to Jasper and Alice. What did I do?"

Where the fuck did Alice find this song? It's ripping me apart, and I swear the singer just mentioned vampires. Angela's somewhere getting fired from a job she needs, and none of it will even matter if I'm insane.

"Shh, Bella, don't cry," he croons, tightening his arms around me as my secret fears claw through me rabidly.

"I can't stop," I tell him sadly.

"What else can I do?" he asks, looking torn.

I see it now. Nothing matters. None of it matters. Edward is searching my eyes for a clue, so I go ahead and give it to him.

"It's not your fault if I'm crazy, Edward," I say bitterly, making up my mind. Time to rip off the bandage while I'm already feeling the pain. "I'm not your responsibility, and I don't want your pity. You don't have to hang out with me."

"What? Is that what you think?" he asks, understanding dawning on his face. "Bella, no. I just wanted you to let it go." I can't wait to see what will come next. Pity? Revulsion?

"Dr George is right," I continue, setting my jaw. "I'll pull it together. Thanks for dancing with me. I'll be fine."

I try to pull away, but Edward holds me close as the music picks up in intensity.

"No. Not like this." he insists, but I get the feeling he's fighting with himself more than arguing with me. "You have to talk to me. I can't read your mind, Bella."

"You keep saying that as if you expect to, Edward," I say, exasperated. "Don't worry, I'm taking your advice. No more childish flights of fancy. This is me, growing up."

_Go, or go ahead  
And surprise me_

"You're wrong, Bella. It is exactly my fault you're feeling this way," he says through clenched teeth. He must be a really good Catholic to feel so much guilt over this mess.

"Stop—" I begin, but he interrupts.

"You're wrong because you were right," he says, very clearly, looking right into my eyes. "You were right about me. Damn, I'm sorry. I keep hurting you when all I want to do is keep you safe. There are rules. I wish I could make you understand."

"I was what?" I ask, afraid to believe my ears. "Don't fuck with me, Edward. Just tell me the truth. I can take it, whatever it is."

"I'll tell you everything, even if you hate me for it. You should hate me."

The rift in my chest starts to mend as my mind races.

"Tonight. Tell me tonight."

His arms tighten around me.

_Go, or go ahead  
And just try me_

"I'll figure out a way to protect you. Just know that," He puts his forehead to mine. "Before you know everything else and never want to see me again."

~oЖo~

**A/N: Translation for **_**Gretchen am Spinnrade**_**: **

_**My peace is gone,  
My heart is heavy,  
I will find it never  
And never more. **_

_**Where I do not have him,  
That is the grave,  
The whole world  
Is bitter to me. **_

_**My poor head  
Is crazy to me,  
My poor mind  
Is torn apart. **_

_**For him only, I look  
Out the window  
Only for him do I go  
Out of the house. **_

_**His tall walk,  
His noble figure,  
His mouth's smile,  
His eyes' power, **_

_**And his mouth's  
Magic flow,  
His handclasp,  
and ah! His kiss! **_

_**My peace is gone,  
My heart is heavy,  
I will find it never  
and never more. **_

_**My bosom urges itself  
Toward him.  
Ah, might I grasp  
And hold him! **_

_**And kiss him,  
As I would wish,  
At his kisses  
I should die!**_

**Someone hold me. That was intense. Reviews get you teased and make Edward more honest. **


	12. Serial Confessions

**Ch. 12: Serial Confessions**

**A/N: Welcome new readers! I owe massive thanks to very popular authors Algonquinrt, Ninapolitan, & Oxymoronic8, who have taken time this week to recommend this story. Thanks to Oxy for letting me borrow a digit from her famous "numbers" scene in IVO. Thanks to: beta NelsonSmandela for editing and sound advice. Apologies to everyone I tortured with my quest for music this week. Now I realize that one piece is just right for this scene. Thanks, also to Kokopuffs, for the one that made it into the chapter. See the Twilighted Canzone thread for some of the music that came pretty close, if you're curious.**

**Official Chapter Music  
**

**Chopin: No. 4: _Étude in C-sharp minor_ "Torrent"**

**youtube(dot)com/watch?v=p0wMR1Qadpw**

**~oЖo~**

_"Tonight. Tell me __tonight," I__ demand.  
_

_"__I'll figure out a way to prote__ct you. Just know __that." He__ puts his forehead to mine. __"__Before you know everything else and never want to see me again.__"_

I pull back a little. He looks miserable.

"However bad it is, I'd rather just know. I need something real, even if I hate it. Do you understand?"

"Bella, this is not exactly casual knowledge," Edward says, grimacing. "I can't just tell you something like that without explaining the consequences first. But I do understand. Can we go some place private? It's not exactly something I can talk about in public. Unless of course you would prefer not be alone with me, which I would completely understand."

"You said before that you'd take me to your apartment if I wanted," I interrupt. "Does the offer still stand?"

He stops dancing completely, his face frozen in surprise.

"Alone?" he asks, frowning. "You really want to be alone with me?"

"Come on, Edward," I shake my head, laughing in spite of myself. "I get it, you're the big bad wolf. You also happen to be the one who saved me from the other big bad wolf, so I'll take my chances. How many times have we been alone before? Besides, I really want to see your apartment. _Before_ you have a chance to clean it up."

"It's neater than your place," he objects. "And while I am guilty of many, many things, being a filthy _wolf _is not one of them."

"Let's go say goodnight to Alice and Jasper, then."

**~oЖo~**

Edward's studio apartment is relatively small, but it's easily ten times the size of my tiny dorm room. He's right; it is neater. It's so neat that it barely looks lived in at all. I understand why he has never invited me over. If I had taken him up on his offer two weeks prior, it would have no doubt confirmed my suspicions. He's a good bluffer.

The tiny kitchen seems to contain nothing but sheet music. It takes me a moment to miss the hum of a refrigerator, and I notice that it's simply unplugged. The furniture is spare and elegant. Books and CDs line the exterior walls, and I take a moment to find familiar authors. I'm particularly curious about several stacks of what appear to be journals. Wherever the walls are not covered in books, they are covered in textured acoustical material that reminds me vaguely of egg-crates.

A baby grand piano takes up the entire area that would normally be used for dining. A microphone hovers on a stand near the open lid. Seeing it makes me smile.

"You recorded my present here?" I ask, looking up to find Edward watching me closely.

He smiles softly and sits down at the keys. He pauses to look at me, but I don't object, so he starts to play. Immediately he launches into an incredibly fast Chopin piece I recognize.

"_Torrent_," I whisper. So he's anxious. I don't know why. His fingers fly at a break-neck pace. I wait for him to finish playing.

"That's nice, Edward, but we came here to discuss the fact that you're a—" I'm interrupted by Edward's cool, elegant fingers on my lips, his thumb holding my chin still.

"Don't say it. Think it all you want, but don't say it out loud," he warns, gently tracing the outline of my lips. "There are consequences if you say the word. You may prefer to have a choice in the matter."

"I choose for you to just come out and tell me everything, then." I insist.

"Please humor me, at least in the order of what and how I tell you," he begs. "There's a lot of truth to tell that doesn't involve risk to you. By the time you know half of it, you probably won't want to have anything to do with me, much less risk your life and career over that particular word."

"My life and career," I repeat. "How?"

"Please trust me," he begs.

"No more lying," I warn.

"Technically—" he begins, and I cut him off.

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't 'I was an ass, and I'll happily tell you want to know,' I'm leaving."

"I _was_ an ass, I agree. But Bella," he implores, "I swear, I didn't mean for you to doubt yourself that way. Please don't go."

"I don't want to go," I say carefully, looking in his eyes for traces of the lying Edward I never want to see again. "But why should I trust you after the last couple of weeks?"

"I couldn't tell you, for several reasons," he sighs. "First, you've got some plans that could be seriously disrupted by knowing what you want to know. Second, it's a huge infraction of the only rule that ever really gets enforced. Haven't you ever had to keep something secret?" His eyebrows draw up in challenge, as if he knows for certain I very well have.

"Sure," I nod, thinking of Jacob. "There are … certain things I may have heard accidentally, through no fault of the … person who inadvertently gave it away . I know some secrets that aren't mine to tell."

"Yes, exactly," he agrees, nodding. "Not yours to tell. What if I promise not to mislead you in any way, but you have to drop it if I let you know if the information is, for lack of a better word, classified?"

"What would happen if someone were to find out that I know?" I ask curiously.

"In that highly likely event, you would either have to die or become one of us," he says, his tone brusque and clear. He pauses for a second, and adds softly, "Or we could run away. We'd have to hide, but we could probably get away with it."

"You mean, according to their laws, I have to become a va—" Before I finish, his hand is on my mouth again.

"Come on, Bella," he groans. "I'm really trying here, and you're not making it easy."

I think it would be ridiculous if I weren't so aware of his arm around my shoulders.

"Why would saying…" I hesitate as he frowns at me. "Why would saying it out loud be a problem? Is there some way for anyone besides the two of us to find out about it?"

"Eventually, yes." he says gravely, sitting down at the piano again. He starts playing a strange, haunting song I don't recognize. "Those who enforce these things have ways of finding out. And I'm afraid that if Dr. George has his way, you'll practically be next-door neighbors with them next year in Italy."

"In Volterra?" I gasp. "How do you even know about that?"

"I heard Dr. George … thinking about it," he says, watching my face.

_Click._ Once again, this explains so much. Except…

"But you said you couldn't read my mind!" I point out accusingly.

"I wasn't lying. I can't," he quickly assures me. "You're the only person I've ever met whose mind is completely silent to me."

"That's what you meant when you said I was quiet?" I ask, thankful for whatever brain defect gave me this blessed privacy.

I think of all the times I've just stared at his elegant hands while he plays, imagining in graphic detail what it would be like if he ever played me that way, and blush. I can't imagine being as good-looking as Edward and being forced to deal with the erotic fantasies of just about everyone who finds him attractive. I can't imagine being forced to deal with anyone's private thoughts. I would not want to be in Bitchsplosion's head for any amount of time.

"I can see how that might get nasty," I agree reluctantly. "I guess it would be nice to take a break from that."

"Yes. Being around you, it's very complicated for me," he says, a corner of his mouth curling slightly. "But that part, well, it's kind of nice to have the company without all the chatter. What surprises me is how often I _wish_ I could read your mind."

"Well, I'm very glad you can't," I admit. "But what do you mean, 'it's complicated?' "

"We should really split this up into two conversations. There's the conversation without consequences, and then you have to make the choice. There's also the one we discussed earlier, the one I was hoping to avoid."

"Which do you want me to choose?" I ask.

"Honestly? Both," he admits. "But I don't have the right to even consider it, certainly not before you know some things about me. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't even want to see me again after tonight."

"Would I be safe in Volterra if I don't choose to get the whole story?" I ask, thinking it through. "Oh! Does Dr. George know? Is he one of you?"

"Maybe to the first question, and definitely no on both questions with regard to Dr. George." he says. "As much as I want to tell you to stay away from there, the opportunity he's been telling you about is completely legitimate. He went through the same program there, without ever guessing the truth. I have a feeling that your suspicions would be secret, as long as I personally avoid contact with them. However, you might be in trouble anyway. And I won't be able to help you, if that's the case."

"You wouldn't be able to go, too?" I ask, frowning. "The whole idea, it sounds like a beautiful dream, too good to be true. I guess I haven't really considered all the details involved, because it just hasn't seemed real to me. Dr. George keeps saying that getting in is like winning the opera lottery."

"He's right, Bella," he says softly. "It would be the most direct path to fame and fortune for you. But I couldn't be anywhere near you."

I look into his eyes and see that he's telling me the truth. The thought of spending a whole year without Edward is too painful to contemplate. Until now I've just filled out paperwork, thinking the whole thing to be more of a dream than a realistic plan of action.

"I don't like the sound of that," I say quietly, sitting next to him on the piano bench.

"Neither do I," he admits, his gaze lingering once again on my mouth before he turns to play some random notes. "But if it's everything you've always dreamed of, Bella — I can't ask you to give that up for me."

"Now I know you can't read my mind," I inform him. "I've never dreamed of being famous. It never even crossed my mind! Maybe one or two opera singers in a generation get to be truly famous."

He stares at me as if I've grown another head.

"What?" I ask, self-consciously.

"Do you know that makes you the only singer I've ever met who doesn't dream about being that exception to the rule?" he asks, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger there for a moment, and I shiver.

"Don't get me wrong," I say. "I like singing in front of people, when it goes well. But I don't have to be famous to do that."

"Well, fame is an option for you now." He reminds me. "I think you should consider it."

"But you're saying that it's an option that excludes having you in my life," I respond.

He looks so sad I want to hold him, but now is not the time.

"Even if you did want that, I'm not at all certain you'd be safe in Italy. The same silence that protects you could make them want you for something more than just your singing."

"They can all read minds?" I inquire. "What, I would make a pleasantly quiet meal?"

"No, it's not that," he says, scowling. "And no, there's me and there's another who can do something very similar. Your silence, it may indicate a strong talent, which would make you very powerful if you were to become like us. And they collect this sort of talent in my kind, even more ferociously than artistic talent in yours."

His eyes take on a gleam when he says _if you were to become like us._ I've been wondering if he's thought about changing me. Now I know. If I'm being honest, ever since I started entertaining the idea of being immortal without being a murderer, I've considered it once or twice myself — particularly if it means being with Edward.

"Now I understand why you've been so conflicted," I say, playing a few notes of _Moonlight__ Sonata_. "But so far you haven't told me anything that would make me hate you."

"I know," he says sadly, joining with me and weaving notes around mine that complement the melody. "That has to do in part with the other conversation."

He pauses a really long time while we continue the song, but I don't press him. I can feel this is the main thing, and it's difficult for him to say.

"But I can tell you this much: I've killed people, Bella."

I feel a chill creep into my bloodstream.

"I thought … I thought you only kill deer."

"_Now_ I only kill deer and other animals. It's been a long time since I killed a person — not that it makes a difference."

"It might make some difference," I say anxiously. "How long has it been?"

"A little over eighty years," he says.

I stare at him, trying to accommodate 80 years into his handsome, unlined face. I can't do it. I can't find murder there, either, unlike the other vampire from the alley. His face had screamed bloody murder. I take a deep, steadying breath to ask my next question.

"How many people did you kill?" I ask, eyes closed. I almost wish he could read my mind now. _Please know how many. I want it to matter to you, too._

"One hundred and thirty-seven," he confesses in a broken whisper.

My breath escapes me in a gust, and my stomach lurches in a dry heave. Suddenly I'm glad I haven't eaten. Completely absurd thoughts come to mind of all the vampire movies and television shows I've ever seen. There's always some sexy vampire seducing some willing lady. I've been right there so far, but the suspension of disbelief has a limit, and I can't reconcile sexiness with murder. One of the two cannot stay in the same person.

"Do you know their names? Did you know them? Or were they just … convenient?"

"_Convenient_?" he asks, shocked. "Of course not! That isn't the word I would apply at all. I knew some of their names, but I chose them on purpose."

"What purpose?" I ask, clinging to the word like a lone piece of driftwood in a very stormy sea. Something occurs to me then, and I open my eyes to stare into his. "You read their minds."

"Yes. I thought I was doing something good," he explains. "I went looking for the worst kinds of men. Men who had killed and were determined to kill again. Rapists in dark alleyways, cornering some truly unfortunate lady. I stopped them all, finding men who were plotting to commit horrible acts all involving the victim's death, at least in intent. I'd follow them until it was clear they were actually going to do it. I always gave them a chance to stop, up until the last moment. I knew what they were thinking. I thought … at the time, I thought it balanced out."

I sigh in some relief. The cold and nausea fades quickly, though not entirely.

"Charlie, my father — he's killed people, too. Not that many, but they were men just like that," I add, thinking about the time he had taken a leave of absence. "I can understand why it upsets you, but it doesn't make you like them."

"No?" he laughs bitterly. "I'm not so sure about that. Your father may have had to kill some people in the line of duty, but I'm fairly certain he left their bodies relatively intact afterwards. I didn't. I had to hide their bodies once I was through with them. What I did was revolting. And … irreversible."

"So, why did you stop?" I ask, thinking about the Quileute legend.

"Carlisle," he said quietly.

"Is that when you met him?" I take his hand and touch the Cullen crest on his cufflink.

_So glad he can'__t read my mind_, I think, realizing not only how much my internal reaction might have hurt him, but also that the sexy is definitely coming back now that the murdering part feels more like justifiable homicide.

"No, that's the worst part," he admits. "I already knew Carlisle, and had lived according to his rules for years. I should have known better. I thought it was different if I was saving good people and getting rid of bad ones. I was playing God."

"It kind of makes sense," I say, trying to put myself in his unusual position. "I can see why it would be tempting. Doesn't it help to think about the people you saved?"

"Of course," he says, looking at my hand on his arm as if it were a fascinating specimen of nature. "It doesn't make it right for me to decide who lives and who dies, but it does help knowing someone lived as a result of my sins."

"And their children, and their children's children," I find myself smiling, just a little.

_Omnes generations_. I think quietly of all the people who will owe their existence to Edward and never know he exists.

"I try not to think about that, but yes. That, too." Edward's eyes lift to meet mine, and I know he's thinking along the same lines.

"So why did you stop?" I ask, twining my fingers with his. I give a little squeeze.

"I used to give their families some money, if the killer — my victim — had any family," he says softly, staring at our joined hands in wonder. "And the last one, well, he had a family, and they had no idea what he did. They were what he thought about when he died. They loved him. So, I found them. I could hear their grief, their worry. They never found the body. I made sure they didn't. It made me realize I wasn't just acting righteously. It made me face the baser part of my crime."

"And now, what happens if you hear someone thinking about committing murder? You just walk away?" I ask, curiously. "Or am I a special case?"

"You are very much a special case," he says, giving me a scorching look that makes me a little dizzy. "But no, of course not. It doesn't happen very often, but when I do come across something like that, of course, I stop it. I just don't kill the bastards afterward, even though it's really tempting."

I really smile this time, and he smiles back, although with only half of his mouth, and a little bit of guilt left over in his eyes.

"What else is there?" I ask, nudging him. "You're holding something back."

Whatever it is can't be any worse than killing a hundred and thirty-seven people. His smile falters, and his eyes look _really _guilty. Not murdering guilty, but guilty enough.

"You might want your hand back after this," he says regretfully, with a very gentle squeeze and release. He starts playing the piano again, just a chord, and stops.

He gets up and starts pacing and running his hands through his hair.

"Edward, come on. Just tell me?" I say, starting to feel alarmed. "You're freaking me out now."

"Right," he says. "Well, speaking of you being a special case, what I have to tell you kind of started with that night."

"He was one of you, right? The guy in the alley?" I ask, feeling my heart begin to race in a panic. I stand up and clutch at the piano, unwilling to sit like a child while he towers above me.

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to. His face softens and he comes to me, and there's a familiarity about the way he gently strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. I'm feeling a major case of déjà vu, but I can't place it precisely. Then I remember.

"You stayed with me," I said softly. "To wake me up from the concussion. You watched over me."

"Yes, that's what I mean," he says, taking a half step back. "At first, it was the concussion … and _him. _I was fairly certain he was going to find you. And I was worried about your head. But then, it just sort of … became a habit."

"What became a habit?" I inquire in a conversational tone that belies the deep suspicion growing in my mind.

"I sort of took it on myself to protect you, almost all the time," he mumbled, shifty-eyed.

"So what, you've been watching me sleep _every_ night?" I joke. He doesn't laugh at all, or meet my gaze, and the realization hits me. My face gets blazing hot. "Edward! You've been watching me sleep? What the hell?"

He has the grace to wince. "If it helps at all, I know it's creepy and wrong I feel really, really bad about it."

"You should feel horrible," I say, pushing on his chest, genuinely upset. "It _i__s_ creepy. How often? Do you stand over my bed and just stare at me like some pervy stalker?"

"Okay, I deserve that," he says, hands up in the air.

"Oh God! Do you watch me changing clothes and in the shower, too?"

"No! God no!" he exclaims, looking so horrified I actually believe him. "No it wasn't about that, I swear! I mean, you're beautiful and I love looking at you but it's not like that."

"Well... if you put it that way," I say, focusing on the _you're beautiful and I love looking at you _part. He's _so_ lucky that he's pretty.

"In my defense, I was just trying to protect you," he continues earnestly. "It's not my fault that you had nightmares. The first time you called out to me, I thought you were awake. I was relieved that you had found out. I had no idea you were still asleep until the sleep-talking got way too random."

I'm looking at him, eyes narrowed and feeling a little torn. On one hand, he is a creepy, stalking, vampire. On the other hand, he's saved me from that other, meaner vampire not just once, but I suspect many times in my dreams. I can only remember a couple of times when the nightmare lasted long enough to make me wake up screaming, terrified, and alone. I shudder to think about those nights. It doesn't hurt that I've been crushing on him for months and find him insanely attractive.

"I do appreciate that part," I concede, "But no more watching over me unless I know you're there."

"You forgive me?" His eyes light up excitedly. "Seriously?"

"I didn't say that," I warn. "But I'm not finished asking questions. I guess I'm more curious than angry. I may forgive you, eventually, if you never lie to me again and keep your visits to the version in which I'm aware of them And you can keep answering my questions. I like that." I add for good measure.

"What else do you want to know?" he asks, black eyes sparkling with a luminous joy I've never seen in him before.

My breath catches. There is one thing I really want to know. More than anything to do with vampires and their weird rules.

"Why don't you ever really kiss me?" I ask shyly, peeking up at him with my head still tucked down. "Don't you want to?"

"Don't ever think I don't want to, Bella," he says, reaching up to stroke my face as he stares into my eyes with that tyger-bright look again. I can't tell whether it makes me nervous in a good way or just nervous when he does that.

"Then why don't you? Does it have to do with what you are?" I ask, trying to keep my thoughts together, and failing miserably.

"A little," he admits, angling my face up towards his. _Oh, good idea_. I lick my lips, reflexively, and his eyes widen slightly. "But it's more about what I've done. I thought you deserved to know first. I couldn't bear to think of you regretting what might be the most beautiful moment of my existence."

"Oh," I say uselessly, unable to think of any further objection to this revelation.

I can't help but notice that he's getting closer and closer by the tiniest of increments. It's almost unbearably slow. Just when I'm about to lose patience and launch myself at him, he suddenly closes his eyes and I feel, rather than see his lips. My own eyes widen at the change, as if I'm somehow trying to see this wondrous event instead of just feeling it. His lips, at first cool and stiff, quickly become slightly warmer and softer on mine. Soon we're kissing in a sweet, slow rhythm that makes me feel like we're on a rocking boat. I reach up, hands sliding up his neck and into his thick hair, and try to tug him in closer.

Pretty soon I realize that he's got me bent nearly backwards over the piano when I feel my shoulders touch varnished wood. I hear a low rumble coming from his chest as my tongue darts out to lick his lips. Suddenly, I feel his hands brace my arms firmly as he looks up in one blindingly fast motion. He smiles dangerously as he pulls back, licking his own lips. He lets me go, stepping back even further, and I lean back with a thud against the piano.

I'm dazed and barely in control of my thoughts, much less anything else, but he couldn't be more restless. With his auburn hair sticking out wildly in all directions, he looks like a lion in the zoo, pacing excitedly before dinnertime. I can't help but wonder how far off I am in my comparison, and I stifle a nervous laugh by biting my lower lip. He must hear it, because he looks at me a bit sharply. I smile at him to show how much I trust him, and his face relaxes into a dazzling smile.

"I should walk you home," he says, his voice deeper than usual.

I take a few breaths to compose myself.

"Okay, but if you're going to stay, you have to lie down with me, not spy on me like a creepy stalking vam—" I tease, until he clamps his hand over my mouth.

"Don't tempt me," he laughs, winding his other arm around me. "Now that I've discovered a delightful way to make you stop saying that word."

He takes his hand off of my mouth with a playful warning look. He steps away and I wait till he's got my coat in his hands to speak.

"What word is that, Edward?" I ask, my eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Oh, you must mean the word _va_—"

We both laugh as his mouth covers mine again. We break apart reluctantly after another long, deliciously lip-tangled minute.

"See what I've done?" he asks the ceiling, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I've created a monster."

**~oЖo~**

**Reviews are better than a really good first kiss from a vam-mmmmph... **

**Hey! There's an EPOV of this chapter in the outtakes. You know, if you're into that sort of thing.  
**


	13. Birds in Flight

**Chapter 13: Birds in Flight**

**A/N: Welcome new readers! The reviews and alerts are killing me in the good way. Thanks to Master Beta (esp. for this chapter, apparently) NelsonSmandela; Algonquinrt, Feisty Y Beden, & Kokopuffs for the music consult; and Limona for the amazing rec on The Lazy Yet Discerning Ficster. Special thanks to RandyCh and cabr for the Spanish consultation. My sincere regrets to everyone who reviewed last chapter: by the time I had my teaser ready, FF's message system was malfunctioning. I will reply as soon as possible. Edit: Also thank you to Adorablecullens for the mention on the Perv Pack Smut Shack interview, and to whomever suggested the piano key thing- remind me, please! I want to thank you too!**

**Chapter Music (via Youtube)**

**Michael Nyman - **_**The Scent of Love**_** (from **_**The Piano**_**)**

**/watch?v=mZS9gTQNE1Y**

**Joseph Marx - **_**Selige Nacht**_

**/watch?v=OE6xfYYhNS8**

**Ravel - **_**Jeux d'eau**_

**/watch?v=J_36x1_LKgg**

**Reynaldo Hahn - **_**L'Heure exquise**_

**/watch?v=vJIz86Mtyek**

**Caetano Veloso - **_**Cucurrucucu Paloma**_

**/watch?v=nitSvClNVD0**

**(Continuing with **_**The Medium**_** by Menotti, see previous chapter music)**

~oЖo~

One thing about being in the zone is that time does this really weird thing. Whether I'm singing, kissing Edward, or reading one of those books that make every word leap from the page in Technicolor, I experience time as a pure contradiction. I can't really say it goes by quickly, even though hours can pass without me realizing it, and I can't say it goes by slowly, either, even though every moment is drawn out like a slow, sticky drop of sweet golden honey. The truth is that time expands to include all five senses and every last iota of attention. Lying in my narrow dorm bed, kissing and touching and chatting with Edward on a Saturday morning certainly falls into this category.

When I'm in the zone, every fraction of a second of time spent there is permanently etched into my memory, into my being on a cellular level, maybe even down to my DNA somehow. I don't know if that's even possible, but I feel so fundamentally changed by those moments that it makes me wonder. So much of my time lately is spent so completely in the zone that I sometimes wonder what will become of me, that everything in me will turn golden.

When Edward looks at me with longing and hope and trust, I feel that the change will be permanent, and glorious. When he looks at me with worry and regret, I fear that this happy time in my life will not last, and that when I am no longer able to live in it, I will be trapped under the weight of my former happiness like some ancient bug encased in amber.

The more he explains his fears, the more confident I become. He's been so deeply lonely for so long that the solitude has seeped into his persona like a dense fog. It clouds his judgment. I get this, in my way. While I have not been lonely for an entire century, I know isolation. As he goes through his list of complications, of reasons why I should want to run away, I find a way to tell him that yes, I get it. I take it seriously, and no, I'm not going anywhere. Not even when he tries to frighten me.

"So, you're telling me that it's like canoodling with a juicy steak?" I ask, laughing and cringing simultaneously.

"No! That's disgusting," he protests, looking horrified.

"Hmm?" I move a bit to better see his eyes.

His gaze is too intense, so I start playing nervously with the buttons on his shirt until he answers.

"Well, it's difficult to find a decent analogy, but steak is truly disgusting to me." He shifts a little in my narrow bed, running his fingers gently through my tangled hair. "A steak is a filthy, charred, repulsive, dead, little lump. You, however, are a vibrant, scintillating, pulsating, captivating bundle of ambrosia."

"That doesn't sound so bad," I murmur, leaning in to give him a slow, sweet kiss. "So besides the sharp teeth avoidance and the 'no sudden moves' thing, are there any other rules?"

"I don't want to talk about rules any more," he informs me, tracing my nose lightly.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask curiously.

"We really need to discuss this pouty bottom lip of yours," he murmurs before capturing said lip between his own.

"Actually, I do have a question," he says after a while, breaking off a dizzying kiss.

"I thought we were doing pretty well with the discussion about the pouting," I harrumph, pointing at my exaggeratedly pathetic expression.

"Don't distract me," he warns, gently smoothing out my crinkled brow as if it were made of putty. "It's a serious question."

"Fire away," I sigh.

"How did you find out? I know I was getting careless, but it's not exactly as if I fit the stereotype," he asks.

"Nobody actually told me. I knew something was very different about you. I knew that it — whatever 'it' was — was the same as that guy in the club. I couldn't possibly have guessed, not when I knew you were hunting deer," I pause, realizing my error and where it's leading me.

"What, then? Was it the Quileutes?" His voice has a slight edge to it, making me regret telling him about Billy and Jacob.

"Not in any way that broke your treaty," I say hastily, then wince. "Not intentionally, anyway."

"Jacob's father heard me mention your last name and asked if you were related to a Carlisle. He looked very serious about it, but wouldn't elaborate, so I asked Jacob later on when Billy wasn't around. When he told me the legend, neither of us took it seriously. We even joked about it," I confess, smiling at the memory.

"So when I mentioned the name Carlisle," he murmurs, frowning slightly, "in Port Angeles… did you know that night, or did it take you a while to figure it out?"

"I figured it out that moment. It took the whole drive home for me to believe it."

"But that night — you knew," he says, and his eyes light up.

"Why does that make you so happy?" I ask, confused.

"Oh, I've just been tormented by the idea that you would never have let me get anywhere near you if you found out," he murmurs, distracting me by tracing a line from my temple to my neck and along the v of my t-shirt's neckline.

His touch reminds me of watching him play and all the times I've been jealous of the piano keys. He's got the same look on his face that he gets when he's playing, and I can't help the small noises coming out of me any more than a piano can stop when given the same treatment.

"You really should want to run away from me," he continues, tracing the same route on my skin, now lightly drumming his fingers in rapid cascades. "I worry about hurting you. It's not so easy to control this … thirst."

"I believe you, Edward, and I don't want to push you to do something you're afraid of, or don't want to do," I reply, wondering how much of his interest _is_ thirst.

"Bella, you can't possibly doubt my attraction to you by now," he laughs.

"I like hearing you say it," I say, getting the tiniest seed of an idea, "I've been thinking. There are a couple of things we could try, safe … things, to experiment."

I slowly unwind myself from the comforter he's rigged as a barrier between us, as his cool lips follow his fingers' path. He hesitates at first, but helps me get rid of the comforter once I've gotten free. I watch it slip onto the floor, and turn my mouth to his as his trail leads back upwards.

We move almost imperceptibly at first, his lips warming to mine, and I sometimes get a taste of his sweet breath. It makes me dizzy for just a moment until I free my head and take a deep breath to the side, like a swimmer.

"Sorry," he murmurs, groaning a bit as I stretch and gently press into him.

As I move slowly, I feel our bodies connect through thin layers of clothes. I feel like the hot half of a zipper, as my shoulder finds the convex curve of his chest and my hand slides up and my fingers weave into hair like I always want to. His hands run lightly along my sides. He hums faintly as I continue my exploratory slide. My breath hitches, and his hands freeze in place when I feel the buttons of the fly of his jeans pressing into my right hip.

I've never felt _him _before like this, and I shift a little to try to feel more. He decides to move at the same time, and he groans as he settles right between my legs. The stiffness of him strains against me as my hips rock instinctively in time to the pulsing pressure building there.

"Hold still," he whispers, and with an incredulous noise of protest I manage to stop. To distract myself, I look up at him. His face reminds me of a statue I once saw, of someone straining against chains. I should feel bad about his struggle, but all I can think of is how beautiful he looks, seeing his eyes closed tight, jaw clenched. It's all I can do not to let the words _I love you_ escape my mouth. The truth of it scares me, and the words flutter nervously around my head like a trapped bird seeking exit.

"_Bella_," he whispers urgently, opening his eyes. There is a question there, and I feel it too, wordless and ancient, in some language that comes back to me like an old forgotten dream. I feel drawn into him then, as if we could somehow fold and blend together, and I want to. I wish there was a way to unbutton his skin and climb right inside with him; then maybe we'd be close enough.

I try to stop myself from telling him, but from the way he's looking at me he can see the love in my eyes, sense it fluttering in my fingertips, and feel its wings flapping madly in my ribcage. I kiss him in a panic now, almost just to keep from saying it, but my lips are Braille to a blind man, and we both moan now as he presses into me as if his thoughts are the perfect mirror of my own.

"Gentle," I say softly, because I promised I'd tell him the moment he starts to hurt me. His eyes flash guilty, and I interrupt his dark thoughts, "No, don't worry; there, that's better. It's perfect, thank you; you're perfect, ah, Edward—"

He silences me slowly with a kiss, his mouth opening eagerly for once against mine. I turn my head and gasp just in time to keep from passing out, and he growls in frustration.

_I love you._ I let the words escape, muffled within the secrecy of his kiss as I shower him with light touches, like a gentle rain to penetrate his isolation. The rain becomes a flood, and I can't tell his touches from my own any more, as one touch becomes ten, a hundred, a thousand. _I love you_,returns the echo, and like the touch, I no longer know which one of us isn't saying it. It flies between us, unspoken and free.

~oЖo~

The undergraduate opera lab becomes far more bearable since Edward and I have truly become a couple. In class we are still working on individual arias, hammering out mistakes, glitches, working on presentation. For the most part I follow Dr. George's advice. I listen to the others with quiet, polite attention. I pay attention to the criticisms Dr. Adana gives others and make careful notes so that he'll never have to repeat those criticisms to me. I do not speak unless spoken to. I come prepared, my music memorized before the required time. When it is my turn to sing, I don't have to see Edward at the piano to feel our connection — as if some cord stretched tight between us, plugged in and far too charged to ignore. It is no longer necessary to channel my anger in order to get into the zone. As soon as Edward's fingers touch the keys, I'm right there.

I begin to wonder if he can read my mind after all, since we are synchronized within every nuance of performance — every tempo change, even every mistake feels as though we move in automatic tandem, like dolphins, or birds in migration. This connection intensifies with each rehearsal, touch, glance, and kiss. The haunted look in his eyes dissipates like a fog in warm sunshine. Frequently our eyes lock, and it's difficult to pay attention to anything else but the constant pull I feel when he's around, and the way my blood races when he looks at me.

In my lesson, before Edward's arrival at the thirty-minute mark, Dr. George plays for me, and it's not quite the same.

"Isabella," he warns, "you're doing very well, but you can't always rely on having a pianist of Edward's skill to support you. Do you practice with a metronome?"

"Why, am I off-beat?" I ask, alarmed at the thought.

"Not really, but you're not as confident about the rhythm as I would like you to be," he says, looking at me sharply over the rim of his bifocals. "I can hear the hesitation. It's not there when Edward plays for you. In most ways he is quite good for you, but I worry about what happens when he's no longer available."

I close my eyes, feeling sharp pain pierce through me at the mere suggestion.

"Ah, I see," he exclaims in discovery, walking towards me. He holds my chin in his hand gently. His voice is understanding, his gaze unwavering. "My shy ones aren't so shy anymore, are they?"

I shake my head.

"First time you've ever felt this way, isn't it?" he asks, his hazel eyes twinkling as I nod. "Forgive me for my obvious satisfaction, but some say I missed my calling as a matchmaker. It makes me very happy to see my little experiments work out so well."

I can't help but laugh as a tear unexpectedly streaks down my cheek. He gently smooths over its path with the pad of his thumb.

"Now, Isabella," he says, his voice dropping in tone a bit. "It's very good for a singer to fall in love with her pianist, very good. Don't forget, you've got power over him, not just the other way around."

I stiffen, but keep silent. I can't help but feel I owe Dr. George for assigning Edward to be my pianist, no matter what his intentions.

"Don't get angry with me," he says with a chuckle. "I'm just being honest. Too many good singers get lost to love; you see the pattern all the time. You need someone who will think of these practical matters when your head is occupied with other things. Edward is good for you. He will understand when you go abroad next year. He'll be the kind who waits for you, mark my words."

"Next year?" I gasp, jumping to conclusions. "Have you heard back from them, then? Did they accept me?"

"I haven't heard anything yet," he concedes. "But it's only been a week since we sent everything in, and I know how they work. Your age will intrigue them, and they'll pay closer attention to your audition recording and your picture."

"A week? I thought we sent in the application at the end of last semester," I ask, confused.

"I held out a bit to squeeze in a mention of you getting cast as Monica," he explains, looking dreamy. "They'll be sure to notice a freshman getting a role like that. Ah! Here's your young man now. Come in, Edward. We were just discussing something that might affect you. It's just a possibility right now, but Isabella can tell you all about it later."

Dr. George smiles at me benevolently, and I can't help but feel far too lucky. Too much good fortune at once makes me very, very nervous. One look at Edward's carefully guarded expression holds both my enthusiasm and worry in check. At least he's not scowling anymore, but I can tell he's concerned.

Ever the vigilant — albeit completely unsubtle — matchmaker, Dr. George assigns me the most sensual songs imaginable to augment my repertoire. He plays a bit of the Hahn on the piano, singing a particularly exquisite phrase, and translates the poem afterward. He sings the entire Marx song, as it is short, and I am enraptured with it immediately. Edward and I share a private smile as Dr. George's magnificent tenor vibrates in the air, caressing the word _sehnsucht. _When he tells us the word means "intense longing," I am impressed by how the composer has managed to form the German language into a silky, undulating experience, at least over the course of a song.

"What were you thinking in there?" I ask as we walk towards the library to meet Alice and Jasper.

"He's very sure of your chances of getting the scholarship now," Edward explains in a hushed tone. I have to lean in to hear him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder with a sly smile. He sniffs my hair conspicuously before continuing. "You're too old to be a prodigy, but he thinks it's possible to turn you into something of a phenomenon. Young girl from a tiny, backwater town, practically musically illiterate — his thought, not mine — shows up at university to learn how to sing. The Famous Tenor sees something in her, and she quickly blossoms under his wise tutelage. He's right, it's a good story. People would eat that up."

"That's how he sees me? It explains a lot, I guess. I think my voice is nice, maybe it could become really good in time, but my technique isn't as good as the grad students'."

"Bella, that's just the thing. You're only 19, and you're being compared to grad students. Your instrument is quite good, you have no pitch problems, you're not afraid to work, and you've got one of the best teachers in the country. That alone would set you apart, but on top of it, you've got, as you call it, the 'column'."

"Lots of people have that. You have it. Alice has it. Sometimes others do, too. I don't even have it all the time yet, only with you," I confide, whispering the last part.

His face lights up with joy at my last remark, and I try not to laugh. He really is a possessive, smug thing.

"Only with me? Oh, I like that very much."

"With you, or when I'm by myself, yes," I clarify, "When other people play for me, it's more of a struggle. Dr. George mentioned it."

"I know. He's going to try to persuade me to go to Volterra, too. He can be devious, but he's a romantic underneath it all."

"Could you?" I gasp, elated. "That would be perfect!"

"Bella, I told you," he sighs. "The risk is too great. But I don't think I can face the idea of you going without me, either."

"We haven't said the word," I protest, frowning. "Not really."

"A technicality at this point," he frowns. "On the plus side, they love technicalities. They'd argue over it for hours. It's just … the wrong outcome. You really want this, don't you?"

"The idea is growing on me," I confess. "Especially if you're there."

"I must be crazy for even thinking about it. Let me talk it over with Carlisle," he says softly, holding the door to the library open for me. "I've only heard stories about these characters, but he lived with them. He claims they're reasonable, if harsh. Maybe he'll be able to suggest a viable option."

~oЖo~

On Saturday we try to get back into our old weekend practice routine. Spending all day in my bed making out is getting to be as frustrating as it is counterproductive to learning music. His playing is decidedly easier than his current repertoire, but from the way the seductive melody enfolds me like a loving embrace, I don't think he selected this piece for academic purposes.

"What are you playing? It sounds familiar."

"Just something from a movie you may have seen," he evades. "What are you reading? Your heartbeat keeps racing."

"What's the piece called?" I insist, not wanting to tell him.

"It's a Nyman piece from _The Piano_. I forget the title."

"Liar. You never forget anything."

"What are you reading?" he persists, curiously.

"You wouldn't approve," I demur.

"I have to know," he laughs. "Your heart is racing in very much the same way it does when I kiss your neck just behind your ear."

"I forget the title," I say, stifling a laugh.

"Oh fine," he sighs, exasperated. "The song is called _The Scent of Love._"

I hold my breath for a moment.

"Bella?"

"I'm afraid my offering isn't quite as pure in spirit," I confess.

"Why does everyone always assume I'm so pure?" he complains, sounding annoyed and bewildered. "If you had any idea of what your scent does to me, you'd never say that."

"_Oh, my_," I say under my breath, before speaking up. "Well, if you put it that way, I suppose you're impure enough to know the whole sordid truth. It's a collection of short stories by Anaïs Nin."

His fingers fumble on the piano.

"Edward?"

"Interesting," he says in a deceptively calm voice. I heard that mistake. "Which one? _Delta of Venus_ or _Little Birds_?"

"_Little Birds_. You've read it?"

"I read a lot. There are some really naughty stories in there, Bella," he says, sounding almost shocked. I am not fooled.

"Mm-hmm," I try to keep my tone non-committal.

"Which story is making your heart race like that?"

"'The Maja,' " I say, truthfully.

"Is that the one about the artist who wants his wife while she's sleeping, but not awake?"

"How many times have you read this _really naughty_ book, Edward?" I tease in a low voice.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and I peek at him from underneath the piano. He looks at me sheepishly as I raise my eyebrows expectantly.

"I ah, only have to read it once to have it memorized," he says.

"Must be nice," I smirk. "But you didn't really answer the question."

"Your memory is becoming quite good, for a human," he observes evasively. I decide to let it slide this time.

"Just some art-of-memory tricks of Jasper's," I say dismissively, thoughts racing in my mind.

"Edward," I say, putting my book aside.

"Yes, Bella?"

"No, keep playing. I have an idea," I say, crawling out from under the piano to stand behind him. "Play something more complicated. Something delicate."

He begins Ravel's _Jeux d'eau. _

"Perfect," I breathe, right into his ear. He shivers, but doesn't miss a note.

"You're worried about hurting me when passion takes over, right?" I ask, kissing his neck.

I've never noticed how long it is before. It's cool to my touch, and has an almost architectural feel. I feel his Adam's apple bob convulsively beneath my fingertips.

"Very much so," he confesses, faltering a bit.

"Focus on the notes," I instruct, kissing the back of his neck now.

I'm really starting to enjoy myself. His scent intoxicates, and I can't get enough. I focus on the areas where he so richly deserves some payback, and I kiss just behind his ear, then follow up with a delicate brush with my tongue. His rhythm remains smooth, though he keeps swallowing and his jaw is tight.

"Are you okay?" I ask, kissing his earlobe.

"Fuck, yes," he hisses. "Don't stop."

Encouraged, I bite his ear where I just kissed it. It's surprisingly unyielding, but I know it has an effect because one note sounds far too loud at that moment, and I look over to notice a crack in one of the ivory keys.

"See?" he grumbles, frustrated. "That could have been you. I didn't mean to."

"That's why this is such a good idea," I brag, happy with myself. "We'll just have to keep doing this until you play it perfectly."

"Have I ever told you how brilliant you are?" he asks almost conversationally. "God, I adore you."

"And I you," I say sweetly, feeling bold.

I start kissing his neck again, and slip my hands underneath his shirt to graze my fingernails over the broad expanse of his back.

"I love this part, where your jaw and ear and neck meet," I murmur, stopping to lick and nip at my favorite spots along the way, like some sex tour-guide.

For the first time in my life, I feel like Renee's daughter in the best way possible. I almost want to tell her about this; it would make her so proud. I can just see her high-fiving me.

"When you kiss me in that spot, you could do anything you want to me," I murmur, right in his ear, and watch his eyes widen and his nostrils flare.

"Maybe more than that, I love your hands. So elegant, so sensual as they touch the keys. I get jealous of these keys sometimes, did you know that?" he hasn't made a mistake in a while, so I keep talking and working my way down.

This may be my revenge for that night on the beach, but we're both enjoying it, so it doesn't feel petty at all.

"Cufflinks — I know you know what those do to me," I whisper and catch his sly smile. "Of course you do. And those hands...I love watching your hands now, making mistakes; it tells me that you are not immune to my touch."

"Immune?" he scoffs. "Try barely restrained. You'd be horrified if you really knew how much effort it takes."

"No, I like it. I like that you're making the effort," I insist, sliding down his back and circling my arms around his waist. I kiss his back under his shirt and trail my fingers lazily from his navel to the top button of his jeans and back again. "And I really like it that you've made fewer and fewer mistakes. This is good, because I can't wait to have those hands _all_ over me."

I laugh as several more keys crack.

"God, Bella, you _**are**_ naughty," he moans, trapping my hands in his lightly as he stops breathing for a long moment. "We really have to stop now. But I'm definitely getting more of those books for you."

~oЖo~

"You two," Alice whispers to me conspiratorially as we stare at Edward and Jasper waiting in line at the bar. "You two are glowing. Tell me: is he as fine naked as he is clothed? I want details."

"Alice!" I laugh in shock as Edward casts a wicked grin in our direction. "No way in hell I'm telling you that."

"Oh, fine," she pouts unconvincingly. "Spoil my vicarious fun."

"Um, from what I've witnessed at your house, you're having lots of first-hand fun and clearly do not need to borrow mine," I reply, admiring the way Edward's jeans ride just low enough to accentuate the curve of his rear end.

He catches me staring and shakes his head reprovingly. I grin in response and notice Jasper mocking us, making hilarious kissing and biting faces at Alice while he waggles his eyebrows lewdly.

"True, I am a lucky lady," she sighs, winking pornographically at her husband, her mouth open wide. She poses suggestively and mouths "Oooh yeah, baby. Come 'n' get it."

"Shut up!" I protest, embarrassed, but I'm cracking up. Edward's shoulders are shaking, but he doesn't spill any beer from the pitcher. Jasper stops at the jukebox and feeds it some cash, balancing glasses in his free hand.

"Not that we have much time for that these days," she whispers as they approach our table. "Jasper's working on a big project right now. It's pretty much work, work, work, sixteen to twenty hours a day."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," Jasper announces, setting four glasses on the table. He looks at Alice guiltily, and I notice the dark circles under his bright blue eyes. "This is for our future, Angel."

"I know," she says, kissing his cheek. "I understand why it's necessary. But what kind of wife would I be if I didn't miss you when you're glued to your computer all day and night?"

"You'd be someone else's wife," he says, wrapping his arms around her. "And I like mine just how she is."

Edward gracefully knocks one of the glasses to the floor with one elbow in an uncharacteristically wide stretch. It cracks, but does not shatter. Alice jumps up to go get another glass, but I stop her.

"It's okay," I say brightly, "Edward and I will share."

She gives me a funny look, but it passes as soon as the next song comes on. The bar is quiet enough for me to hear the gentle plucking of a guitar and a beautiful tenor voice singing fervently in Spanish.

"Jasper!" Alice cries, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes shining. "This was our wedding dance! When did they get this in the jukebox?"

"When I put it in myself," he says, standing and offering her his arm. "This morning, in fact. Dance with me, beautiful Gypsy?"

"Every day until the very end, if you want," she replies solemnly, forgetting all about us as he spins her tenderly towards the dance floor.

"Shall we join them?" Edward asks softly, kissing my cheek. I nod and take his hand.

"I wish I knew what he's singing," I say, leaning my head against his shoulder as I let him lead us in gentle, swaying steps. "It's such a pretty song."

"It's a song about a dove," Edward murmurs, smoothing my hair behind my ear. "Who has lost his mate."

"You speak Spanish?" I ask, looking into his eyes. "What does he say exactly?"

"'They swear that heaven itself shuddered when it heard his cry'," he translates, "'How he suffered for her, calling out to her even as he died'."

As he translates for me, his eyes grow sad, haunted by the music. He holds me tighter and looks utterly miserable for the first time since the last night we danced here. I almost ask him to stop, but this moment feels important, so I just listen. He lifts his chin slightly to rest it on top of my head, and cradles me as he continues.

"'They swear that he is nothing more than her soul'," he continues in a ragged, low tone. "'That he still waits for her to come back, the wretched creature. Cucurrucucú, dove, Cucurrucucú, don't cry. The stones never cry, dove. What do they know of love?'"

"That's heartbreakingly beautiful," I sigh, watching Alice and Jasper over Edward's shoulder.

They're staring into each other's eyes like lovesick teenagers, but smiling like Charlie's parents at their 50th wedding anniversary. I shut my eyes to give them privacy. I shiver in Edward's arms and pray to whatever's out there that this fragile new thing doesn't come crashing down around me, leaving me as lost and desolate as the dove in the song. I want what Alice and Jasper have. What my parents didn't have—well, Renee, anyway.

"Bella," he says, pulling just far enough away to look into my eyes. "There's something I should tell you about my kind. I should have told you before."

"What is it?" I ask, worried at his grave expression.

"Your feelings will probably change," he says sadly. "It's normal. You'll probably fall in and out of love, like most people, and I don't want you to think I'm telling you this to put any pressure on you. For us it's different. Certain things with us are more permanent. We live forever, unless we're killed on purpose, and we mate for life. I know, I know it's not like that with people. I swear, I will let you go the moment you tell me it's over."

"Some people mate for life," I remind him gently, staring at Alice and Jasper.

"They do have an unusually strong bond," he admits. "But what about your parents? They didn't last very long at all."

"Renee didn't," I correct him. "Charlie married for life."

"I'm not telling you this for you to rush any decision," he says softly. "I just think you should know that all of this means more to me than it would to most people you know. Please, just don't say anything … important to me without knowing that."

"I'm Charlie's daughter in more ways than one," I promise him as the music fades away and our movements slow to a stop. "And I won't say it to get into your pants, either. Edward, when I say those words, it's forever. Just like the doves."

He leans down and seals my final words with an altar-worthy kiss, devout and passionate and pure. I lean into him, face upturned like a flower to the sun.

_I love you_, our lips say silently.

The truth beats its wings between us, stretching and raising us far above the noisy clatter of the world around us.

~oЖo~

**A/N: Your reviews are like scintillating, pulsating, captivating bundles of ambrosia.  
**

**Original song lyrics:**

**Dicen que por las noches  
no más se le iba en puro llorar;  
dicen que no comía,  
no más se le iba en puro tomar.**

**Juran que el mismo cielo  
se estremecía al oír su llanto,  
cómo sufrió por ella,  
y hasta en su muerte la fue llamando:**

**Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay cantaba,  
ay, ay, ay, ay, ay gemía,  
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay cantaba,  
de pasión mortal moría.**

**Que una paloma triste  
muy de mañana le va a cantar  
a la casita sola  
con sus puertitas de par en par;  
juran que esa paloma  
no es otra cosa más que su alma,  
que todavía espera  
a que regrese la desdichada.**

**Cucurrucucú paloma, cucurrucucú no llores.  
Las piedras jamás, paloma,  
¿qué van a saber de amores?**

**Cucurrucucú, cucurrucucú,  
cucurrucucú, cucurrucucú,  
cucurrucucú, paloma, ya no le llores**


	14. Places, Everyone

**Chapter 14 - Places, Everyone**

**Thanks to Mistress Beta NelsonSmandela and Algie for the music suggestion and continuing all-around support for this story. **

**Chapter Music (youtube)**

**Bizet - **_**Je dis que rien ne m'epouvente* (I say that nothing scares me)**_** (from **_**Carmen**_**)**

**/watch?v=bRrYwTxxQ_g**

**Stevie Wonder - **_**They Won't Go When I Go**_

**/watch?v=whjD_1E0Lls**

**Orchestra warm-up**

**/watch?v=4xeSF0-PwPA**

**Orchestra tuning**

**/watch?v=RHSbZBuqOvU**

**Maxim Vengerov – Brahms' **_**Hungarian Dance No.5**_

**/watch?v=nKHQ36NOxzk**

~oЖo~

I'm tugging on my costume for the opera, trying to get it to fit correctly, but it's just too big. Whenever I try to tuck in the blouse at the waistband, the collar comes undone, and whenever I fix the collar, the shirt somehow gets untucked again. The more I adjust, the worse it gets, and I'm starting to worry.

_How can this be? How am I going on stage in an hour when we haven't even started staging rehearsals? I know the music, but I have no idea what to do on stage. Guess I'll just fake it._

Bitchsplosion sits on the other side of the women's dressing room, working on her hate blog. She takes a cell-phone picture of me struggling with my costume and laughs at me.

_You are so gonna fuck this up_, Isabella Swan, she laughs. _And I'm gonna be there to record the whole disaster_.

I try to ignore her and pull my costume together for the last time. It looks better, but I'm still worried about it.

_We need places in five minutes everyone; Places in five minutes_, I hear Dr. George say over the intercom.

_Five minutes?! What happened to my hour? _My costume looks worse again, but there's no time for that. I have to get out on stage.

I rush out of the dressing room, only to trip and fall as I do all too frequently. I look down and see a crimson stain blossoming on my skirt where it hits my knee, and I worry about Edward. I can hear him playing Bizet over the intercom, and it sends me into a panic. _That's a completely different opera, but I kind of know this aria. _I know the refrain, but I can't think of the first words, and my knee hurts like crazy. I need bandages, but there's no time. I'll just have to go onstage with a huge bloodstain on the front of my dress. As I'm rushing towards the place where there should be stairs to the stage, I realize I'm completely lost. It's just dark, narrow hallways.

_How? It's like ten feet from the dressing room to the stage, Bella, _I scold myself, turning a corner as I try to double back. I find only the boiler room. Somehow I got into the basement.

_Fantastic._

_It's just like me to get lost in the basement the moment I'm supposed to be on stage._

I hear a buzzing sound coming from behind the boiler, and when I look, I see a huge nest of wasps. They are floating all around the nest, and I cannot help but notice, even as my blood runs cold, how beautifully they move. They are not yet angry. I cannot let them get angry, but it is difficult to relax and not show my fear when I am lost, bleeding, and have a massive case of stage fright to boot.

_Calm down, _I tell myself, and back up slowly. What is it I'm supposed to remember about wasps? _No sudden moves._

Right, no sudden moves.

_Places, everyone. Isabella, we need you on stage. Don't disappoint me, girl_.Somehow Dr. George's voice has turned into my grandmother's in that last sentence. Maybe she's here — maybe I can find her.

I slowly back out of the boiler room and run into Alice, who is playing her violin in the dark hallway. She's got her case out, and there's money in it. Who the hell would be throwing money in her case in the basement of the Music Building?

_Alice, watch out — don't play too fast! You'll scare the wasps, and they'll attack you! _I whisper, but she doesn't hear me. It's like she can't see or hear me. I hear the buzzing coming closer.

She plays faster and faster, her talented hands working like mad and her eyes alight with the spirit of the song. I'm trying to get her attention, calling out her name, and she finally turns to me, smiling.

_I can see everything_, she says, ignoring the wasps hovering all around her now. Her hand, far cooler than usual, touches my face.

_What's wrong, love? _she asks in Edward's voice. I blink, and it's Edward, after all, holding my face between his hands as the wasps hover around us in an angry holding pattern. I can still hear him playing Bizet upstairs.

_I'm sorry, Edward. I fell hard, and it's going to be difficult for you_, I confess, pointing to my skirt, which is now covered in wasps. _Just remember I love you, okay?_

"Tell me when you're awake," he pleads, stroking my cheek.

_Awake?_ I ask, fascinated as the first wasp sinks its stinger into the back of my hand. Oddly enough, it doesn't hurt at all, and the hallway fades around me except for his touch on my cheek.

"Tell you what when I'm awake?" I ask sleepily and haul myself up on my elbows.

"Waking up, finally? That must have been some dream you were having." He smiles at me, continuing to caress my face. "Most of what you said didn't make sense."

I snuggle in to his touch, sighing in sweet relief. We're in his apartment for a change, in the ridiculously comfortable new bed that dominates his living/bedroom.

"It was, hmm... Alice turned into you, and the opera was happening already, but I got lost in the basement, and there were bees, I think," I mumble, stifling a yawn behind my hand as the details of the dream fade too quickly to describe adequately.

My cell phone rings, and I check the caller ID. It's Renee's semi-regular Sunday call. I bite my lip. I've been putting this off for too long, but I don't know if I want Edward to witness even half of this conversation. He's just staring at me with an extremely amused look on his face.

"You promised you'd tell her," he whispers, opening my phone so that I'm now forced to take the call.

_I'm not even awake yet! _I mouth at him, horrified and a bit pissed off.

"Bella? Are you there?" my mother's voice asks with concern.

"Hi Renee," I say, glaring at Edward. "Sorry, I just woke up. I wasn't quite ready to answer yet."

"Then why did you?" she asks, then gasps, having one of her spectacular flashes of insight. "He picked it up, didn't he? He's there, and you _just woke up. _Oh, baby, I'm so proud of you! No wonder you haven't been taking my calls lately! Oh, my little girl is a woman now! Phil, listen to this!"

"Mom!" I half yell, half plead. "Will you stop? Please?"

"I'm joking; Phil isn't even around," she lies, as I hear him sneezing in the background and mumbling.

It gets quiet on her end, and I decide to let it pass. Edward is trying to stifle a grin, but he's staring at my cheeks, which are flaming hot. I hit him with a pillow and take the call into the bathroom. It seems like the appropriate place for indelicate functions.

When I come out, relieved to have survived the preliminary grilling, Edward has breakfast ready for me on one of those cute trays designed for new couples, Mother's Day, and sick people. He's listening to some Stevie Wonder song I've never heard before. It's pretty and kind of sad, and it matches Edward's face.

"Nice song. I don't think I've ever heard it before," I say, feeling vaguely guilty.

I wonder if I've done something wrong, and try to look at everything from his perspective. I feel like I'm missing something.

"Yeah, it doesn't get played much. It reminds me of my father. Carlisle, I mean," he clarifies, giving me a sad smile.

"Is your dad okay?" I ask, settling back under the sheets. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, but now doesn't feel like the right time for a kiss, so I tentatively stroke his hand instead. I'm feeling a little too nervous to eat breakfast just yet.

"I'm sure he's fine," he says, taking my hand. "I was kind of hoping to call my parents soon. They've been asking to speak to you, and I thought it would be a nice introduction."

"Oh, yeah?" I say, realizing why he's upset. My stomach drops a bit. "Look, I didn't know."

He's playing with his own phone and pouting, refusing to look at me. Stevie Wonder is telling me to be good, which I assume involves being honest, so I take a deep breath and try again.

"Um, about Renee," I start, and Edward looks at me again. "She wants to talk to you, too, but I wanted to sort of prepare you both first. I'm not ashamed of her at all, it's just that she says whatever is on her mind, and it can be a little shocking for people. And you're very formal and polite, you know? She might tease you about it and try to get you to relax and act your age. I just didn't want either one of you to get offended or angry because of a misunderstanding."

"You're not ashamed of her? Why should you be?" he asks, frowning. "What about me, are you ashamed of me?"

I laugh in his face, surprised at the ridiculous question. He makes this noise somewhere between a grumble and a growl and slowly takes my wrists in his hands. I'm still laughing until he has me suddenly flat on my back and pinned to the bed. It's kind of hot, but I also notice that the breakfast tray doesn't even shake. This has got to be one quality mattress.

"Why the hell would I be ashamed of you?" I ask him, as I wrap my legs around his waist. It's a bit risqué for us, since I'm wearing only panties and one of Edward's long T-shirts, but he's got some flannel pajama bottoms, so there's enough coverage. Nice, fuzzy, soft coverage for such a firm young man. Young in appearance, anyway, and certainly firm.

"Perhaps because I'm a soulless, century-old half-demon?" he asks, sitting up and attempting to gently unhook my legs.

He's unwilling to hurt me, and my ankles are locked, so he fails. I can feel him hardening between the two layers of fabric, and I moan playfully, covering his hands with mine. I bring myself up for a kiss. He doesn't really participate.

"You're really serious about this soul business, aren't you?" I ask wonderingly.

"Of course I am," he says in a rough voice.

"If I have a soul, so do you. How else would this be possible?" I wave my hand back and forth between us. He looks away, so I keep going. "And besides, if your kind doesn't have a soul, then first, I don't think you would be able to care about not having one, and second, there's no way _this_ song could remind you of your father."

He blinks, and we remain motionless for a moment, listening to the powerful spiral of sound building, climbing into some mysterious unknown realm. I don't know what the lyrics mean exactly, but they beckon the listener to follow something difficult and true and beautiful and pure.

"This really reminds you of him?" I ask. "I think I would like him very much."

"I know you would," he says, his face breaking into a smile. "Are you ready to say hello?"

"Sure," I say, feeling nervous.

I unwind my legs from around him and investigate the breakfast tray. It looks like something from an article on good nutrition. That's probably exactly where it came from, knowing Edward. I reach for the cup of hot tea and take a sip. Herbal, because Edward thinks caffeine makes me hyper. Sometimes he really does act like he's 100 years old. There's no way I'm complaining about breakfast in bed, however, so I keep quiet about it. The sound of the European dial tone makes me smooth my hair and sit up straighter.

"Relax, nobody can see you," he says as he reaches for his phone. "And you look completely adorable, even if they could. I have it on speaker phone."

"Edward! How are you, son?" the man's voice is almost as beautiful as Edward's, but warmer, more comforting. I can imagine he would have a very soothing bedside manner.

"I'm well, Carlisle, and I have Bella here. We're on speaker." He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Hello, Dr. Cullen," I say in what I hope sounds like the kind of voice you'd want dating your son.

"Please, call me Carlisle. It's a pleasure to speak with you, Bella. Edward speaks very highly of you. Now Esme's here as well," he says. I hear a lovely female voice exclaiming softly in the background, "Come, we can share the phone."

"Hi, Esme," Edward says. "This is Bella."

"We saw your lovely picture," she says in a voice that makes me think of gently flowing streams and the kind of soothing encouragement all those Mother's Day cards talk about. "I'm so happy to finally get to talk to you."

"Me too," I say, wanting desperately not to disappoint her. "Are you enjoying painting in Paris? Your work is really beautiful, from what Edward has shown me."

As we talk a bit, Edward takes my hand. I've been unknowingly twisting the bottom of my shirt, providing Edward with what must have been an interesting view, given the dangerous look in his eyes. I gasp and blush, embarrassed, and he nuzzles my neck playfully, giving me a small kiss behind the ear. He knows I can't think when he does that.

"I'm so sorry," I confess, realizing Esme has just asked me a question, and I have no idea what she's said. "Edward distracted me, and I didn't catch the question."

"Bella distracted _me,_" he laughs before I clamp my hand down over his mouth.

Esme and Carlisle both make the kinds of noises that parents make while watching their small children take their first steps, and Edward rolls his eyes.

"It's not as if you've never heard me laughing," he says, embarrassed. "Emmett makes me laugh all the time."

"It isn't the laughing, son," Carlisle says, and I can hear the warmth of his smile shining all the way across the ocean. "I've just never heard you sound so happy before."

"You should have heard him five minutes ago," I risk, because I really need to win this argument. Edward gives me a warning glare, but I ignore it. "I'm trying to convince Edward he has a soul, and he's being stubborn and morose about it."

"Don't gang up on me now," Edward grumbles. Carlisle says something too quickly for me to make out. Edward replies at equal speed.

"Hey, that's not fair," I point out.

"Oh, I like her," Esme breathes happily. "Edward, you have to bring Bella here for spring break. I insist."

"Perhaps," he says, kissing my knuckles. "I don't know if Bella has plans, and I don't want to put her on the spot."

"That's very gallant of you," she approves. "But I won't be so easily dissuaded. If Mohammed will not come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed. Perhaps we can attend one of your concerts?"

"We might have many concerts for you to attend soon in Europe. Speaking of which, Carlisle," Edward says, "what do you think about the possibility of my going to Volterra with Bella next year? Do you think they'll be reasonable about it?"

"I'm not sure that your idea of reasonable will match up with theirs," he replies. "But I'm overdue to visit Aro and Marcus anyway. I'll try to make the inquiry as discreetly as possible, given the circumstances. We are old friends, after all."

~oЖo~

"Edward!" Alice exclaims, running toward us from the library steps. "Just the person I was about to call. I need a _huge_ favor. Hi, Bella."

She hugs me fiercely and turns her big pleading eyes back to Edward. He's smiling at her like she's a little kid begging for candy. It occurs to me that he already knows what she's going to ask, and that the answer is yes.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Concert Mistress," he says, with a gentlemanly bow.

"You got first chair?!" I exclaim. "Alice, that's great!"

"I should have had first chair all along," she says with narrowed, determined eyes. "But fortunately fate and mononucleosis have righted the grievous wrong committed by our obviously deaf conductor. Unfortunately, the same fate has befallen our pianist, and the concert is tonight. Please, please, please, Edward, can you play? It's the Brahms _Hungarian Dance No. 5_; I'm sure you know it. Maestro gave me thirty minutes to find you before he goes with someone else, and I don't trust anyone else to let me play it my way."

"Of course I'll play for your concert. Does this mean I'll be ignoring the conductor in your favor?" He laughs as she does a silly victory dance and whips out her cell.

"Oh, absolutely," she informs him in no uncertain terms. She holds up a finger as she listens. "Maestro, yes, it's Alice. Edward Cullen can play. Can he be at rehearsal at four P.M.? Yes, he says yes. Great!"

Jasper approaches holding two big disposable coffee cups and scowls at Alice.

"Woman, you are impossible to keep up with. I never should have given you caffeine this morning. Hey guys," he says, giving us a chin tilt in greeting.

Edward gets this smug look with Jasper's reference to _allowing_ Alice to have caffeine, so I steal the cup with Alice's name written on it and drink deeply. It's so sweet that it's like _The Sound of Music_ in beverage form.

"So I take it you got roped into tonight's pops concert?" Jasper asks Edward, as Alice and I pass her coffee back and forth between us, taking swigs as if it were a flask of whiskey.

"Please don't have mono," I whisper to her under my breath, avoiding Edward's gaze.

"Ugh, like I would breathe Mark Evans' air," she scoffs, as though she hasn't been sitting right next to him for the year. "Besides, I never get sick."

We walk into the library and find our regular table is free. Jasper sits with us, which is kind of unusual, but apparently he has his reasons.

"You know the big project Alice and I have been talking about?" he asks us, and I nod. "I was hoping you two could help me out by performing a song or two, to demonstrate the evolution of the piano."

"Sounds interesting," Edward says, and we exchange a quick look. "Of course we'll help you. We just need to work out the schedule. Bella and I are both in opera rehearsals and performances for the next three weeks."

"We'll make it work," Jasper smiles. "I appreciate it. I'll have a fortepiano and a modern piano on stage, so if y'all could come up with one piece from the 18th century and one from the 19th, I'd appreciate it. If you can make sure the first is pretty constrained and the second very lush, it would help me make a nice contrast."

As we go over the details, including working out a performance time, I start thinking about how fast everything's moving. It took me a huge amount of effort and savings to get to France for the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. Every audition back then was a huge deal, and it felt like I always had months to prepare for a performance. Now everything has sped up so quickly; I'm actually talking about going to France in a month and Italy in seven months, as if these things could happen so quickly and with so little effort on my part. Anyone could ask me to sing at any moment, and I'm supposed to just do it with a couple of weeks' notice. Maybe someday I'll be as casual as Alice and Edward — I'll be asked to sing a major work with a couple of hours' notice. I feel the panic of my anxiety dream come back to me, only this time it's firmly rooted in reality.

On top of that, I'm inching, quite literally it seems, with every make-out session, toward losing my virginity with my excruciatingly handsome boyfriend. My boyfriend, who seems a little reluctant to change me into a vampire. Earlier I had acted as if he were being unreasonable, but now I'm starting to see his side of things, a little bit. Intuitively, I know what I want. I'm just not sure how fast I want to get there. Alice and Edward are poring over the score for the Brahms, discussing tempo changes, and I start to feel a little faint.

"Hey there, lil' sis," Jasper whispers, his warm hand rubbing my back gently. "You doing okay?"

Edward looks up at me with concern and love in his dark eyes, and I meet his gaze. The current flows strongly between us, and everything makes sense again.

"I'm just anxious about the opera, big bro," I confess, which is also true. I'm still locking eyes with Edward, but I lay my head gratefully on Jasper's broad shoulder. "But I know everything's going to work out just fine."

~oЖo~

After rehearsal, Edward and I walk back to my dorm and then to his place to change for the concert.

"Charlie's coming for the opera," I say, and wait. Edward is looking at me with a guarded expression, so I continue. "Would you like to meet him? As my boyfriend, I mean. As you know, he's a police chief, so he'll probably give you the third degree—"

I stop because I'm twirling, and Edward's mouth is on mine, hungrily at first, then sweetly. My feet are on the ground, but my eyes are closed, and as far as I'm concerned, we're spinning, spinning, and I wonder if it's possible to physically dissolve from too much happiness. It's amazing how these relationship formalities really matter to him.

"He'll give you the third degree," I repeat, as he kisses my nose again. He looks happier than I've seen him all day.

"I should hope so," he says, hugging me in his arms so we're walking funny, like Frankenstein's monster. "You're well worth protecting."

~oЖo~

Jasper and I sit five rows directly behind the conductor, in prime seats usually saved for big donors to the university.

"How did you get these tickets?" I ask, as the orchestra warms up. Alice and Edward are still offstage. "Honestly, Jasper, sometimes I think that you're like some eccentric millionaire or mafia boss or something."

"I just know a lot of people," he says with a shrug. "The nice folks who usually have these seats are on the East coast right now, and they didn't want the tickets going to waste."

"This is one of my favorite sounds," I say excitedly, as all the musicians adjust their instruments and play small fragments of what's to come. It's so chaotic, but magical at the same time. "It's the sound of anticipation."

Edward and Alice enter from stage right, and I gasp at how amazing they look. I've already seen Edward in his concert dress tails and white tie, but I haven't quite gotten over it yet. I don't think I ever will.

"Alice looks really tall," I marvel, once Edward is seated at the piano and Alice is taking her bow as Concert Mistress.

"Platform shoes with five-inch heels." Jasper confides. "And enough personality for three people just completes the illusion."

Her long black silk dress has subtle draping and makes her look like a Greek goddess. Jasper claps extra hard, and I can feel his pride emanating from him in waves. I get the feeling he's barely holding back a loud whistle or shout. Alice winks at both of us and turns, tucking her violin below her dainty chin. She plays a long, steady note and slowly the entire orchestra except for Edward joins in.

"Now this is my favorite sound," Jasper whispers to me. "I love hearing everyone get on the same page. You can really tell if it's going to be a good concert by how well they tune up."

The conductor comes out on stage, and he looks completely different from how I pictured him. From Alice's complaints I have expected some decrepit old man with a hearing aid, but he was just a guy, maybe a little older than my dad, wearing a tuxedo and an annoyingly smirky face. He's kind of swaggering, but with an oddly antiquated gate. It reminds me of old pirate movies with Errol Flynn.

"Does he always look like that?" I ask, frowning.

"Like midlife crisis meets swashbuckling douchebaggery?" he says with a straight face as everyone's clapping. I can't help but giggle behind my hand as he nods. "Yes, yes, he does."

With almost no warning, they go into the Hungarian dance, at first with only Edward and Alice playing. Alice takes command of the familiar tune and the stage, exuding a compelling stage presence. She somehow manages to include the conductor, but I can tell that Edward is more attuned to her than him. The playful piece is perfect for Alice's gypsy persona, and I can see why she's been so eager to play it. She makes it seem effortless, even as my senses register her breakneck pace and flashy bowing. Her lively demeanor seems to be rubbing off on Edward, and for a moment they seem to be playing with the tempo in a game, like two magpies chasing each other around for some unseen prize. At just the right moment, they swoop in completely together to finish the first iteration of the melody. The audience buzzes with excitement as the orchestra joins in for the second refrain, and I can tell that it's only polite tradition that keeps people from breaking into applause too soon.

"I am the luckiest man alive," Jasper says reverently. "Sometimes I can't believe she comes home with me."

"I know what you mean," I reply, staring at Edward's hands gracefully racing up and down the keys.

~oЖo~

"Really, you were great on stage tonight. Wonderful. I was so proud. No, no, no, keep this on," I protest between kisses,as he tries to maneuver out of his concert tails and tie without breaking contact with my mouth.

"What?" he asks, confused. "You want me to wear the whole suit, tie and everything? Usually you're trying to take off more of my clothes."

"You can take off your shoes. It's for you," I insist. "To help with your control. Wouldn't want you losing it while we're making out and have you accidentally, you know," I snap my teeth together playfully at his neck right above the white tie and collar.

I'm playing with his cuff links and the sexy wrists just beyond them while manually encouraging his hands to roam freely about my person. He looks at me quizzically for a moment, then grins.

"You little pervert," he laughs. "You've got some sort of formalwear fetish, don't you?"

"Are you really complaining?" I ask, biting along his amazing jawline. "You always work so hard to protect your virtue. I'm just making it easy on you. It's like a chastity suit."

I almost expect lightning to strike at the magnitude of that whopper, but all I get is more laughter from Edward and some near-groping. Edward is master of the near-grope, but it doesn't get me as frustrated as it used to, now that I know why he's being so careful. A few more practice sessions at the piano, and I expect those hands to make good on many unspoken promises. The hands in question are moving quite freely now, his fingers dipping a little further under my neckline with every passing caress.

"Easy isn't the right word, exactly, but it would be hypocritical of me to complain," he says in the sexy low voice he saves for times like this. "I'm starting to really love the texture of silk against your skin. Oh look, here's more … and again more," he observes, exposing the delicate matching slip to my semi-transparent dress, and the silk and lace edge of the bra underneath. His lips follow his fingertips, kissing every tiny bit of exposed skin.

"If it makes you feel better, you can take off all my clothes," I offer helpfully, and he laughs.

"There's my girl. That's my Bella," he croons, and I notice the slight emphasis on the possessive article. "No, I like your original idea. I'd like to be able to look your father in the eye the first time we meet."

"I'll get him to drive in tomorrow." I start laughing as he tickles me, and we fall onto the bed together.

He really thinks I'm kidding.

~oЖo~

**A/N: The music in the dream sequence is from the opera Carmen, in which the virtuous Michaela is admitting that, while she claims nothing scares her, deep inside, she is deathly afraid. She prays for courage. It's one of my favorite arias.**

**If you're not reading **_**Sleepers, Awake**_** by Feisty Y Beden, you are missing the most lush, mysterious, poetic and heartbreakingly lovely fic I've ever read. **


	15. Power, Focus, Grace

**Chapter 15: Power, Focus, Grace**

**Thanks to beta extraordinaire NelsonSmandela (who saved a kitten and a scene), mindfucker extraordinaire Feisty Y Beden (see the A/N at the bottom), musicfucker extraordinaire Algonquinrt, and the extraordinary AdorableCullens. **

**Chapter Music & Media: (via youtube)**

**Turner Classic Movies: 100 years at the movies**

**/watch?v=E_fCRE5Xtnc**

**Christian Sinding's **_**The Rustle of Spring**_

**/watch?v=ga_sM1ankFM**

**Jessye Norman sings **_**Les Chemins de l'Amour**_** by Francis Poulenc **

**/watch?v=j7dvj3TDSdA**

**Paganini-Liszt, **_**La Campanella**_**, as performed by Evgeny Kissin**

**/watch?v=5y9Wiqsd9xY**

**&**

**Giancarlo Menotti's The Medium (ongoing for several chapters)**

**/watch?v=RAcADZ0J_kI**

**Oh yeah, and I'm playing with Stephenie Meyer's tinkertoys, not my own.**

~oЖo~

Edward is not always careful to hide his true nature, but he's always patient with mine. I know now, just from observing him,that his abilities include inhuman speed and strength, and heightened senses. We haven't really discussed it, since we're still not officially talking about vampires, but on the few occasions I've even remotely suggested that I could become like him someday, he seems horrified by the idea.

"Bella, don't even think about that," he says. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

"Then tell me, give me an idea," I argue. "If you're hunting animals, what could be so bad about it? It looks like a pretty good deal from here."

"You look like a better deal from here, little mystery," he replies, reaching for me.

In a flash I am in his lap, his lips on mine, making me forget what we were talking about. He's good at distracting me, but I'm on to him, that cheater.

Sometimes I catch him watching me with an expression that might be best reserved for looking at videos of baby pandas on the internet. Whenever I remotely broach the subject of vampirism or compare my emotions with his, he tends to downplay them, as though my feelings are more adorable than substantial. This would be infuriating, except for the fact that he's always curious about my thoughts and emotions, so I know he cares. I don't know if it's the fact that he was born around the turn of the 20th century, or that in comparison I am physically so completely vulnerable that he finds it cute. Obviously this is annoying, but in some ways I see his point. Emotionally, we are connected, but there is a gulf of experience separating us. He may appear to be nothing more than a very talented young man, but his century's worth of experiences as a mind-reading, never-changing vampire is beyond my comprehension.

I want to understand him, to know him completely. I feel the boundaries of my love for him disappearing in the breach of my ignorance. What I don't understand, I can only idealize. I don't want to idealize him — that's a shallow, pretty pond, good for nothing but staring and daydreaming. I want something deeper. I want to dive in, to swim inside what is happening to us, and I want him in there with me. The mystery draws me in, but it keeps me out, too. I wonder if, with my silent mind, something similar happens to him as well.

I'm supposed to be working on a music history assignment, but I've been staring at Edward playing his piano for so long that my laptop has gone idle. I watch the random pattern my old-school screensaver generates for a moment, glad for the distraction. The lines change color, bouncing from one corner of the screen to the next, leaving behind a trail of fading light.

_Most people fade, _I think. _But not him. _I can't imagine what that would be like. I've only thought of being nearly immortal as something glamorous. Forever young. I haven't thought about what it means to be immortal in a rapidly changing world, where people must seem as temporary as goldfish won at a carnival ring toss. Inspired, I bring up Google and start looking at images of people from every decade he has been alive. I can't really get it into my head, so I go to Youtube and, with the sound on mute, play a video clip containing images from a century of movies.

Now the real Edward and the video mingle in my imagination, and I feel time start to bend in my mind. It flows around him like water, but cannot change him.

Edward stands, in my mind's eye, just as he is today, but standing still on a busy sidewalk as decades of people pass by him. The scene in my mind starts off at a normal pace. I see him at roughly my age, when he must have changed. His family — his human family that is — fades away from his memory as ghostlike tintype images off to the side. Soldiers on parade, coming home from World War I, march by, and I can almost hear their boots on the pavement, echoing my pulse. Was there even pavement where he stood, or was it brick, or packed dirt? Every one of them is dead now, long dead. Fresh flower petals from their graves flutter in the breeze and catch on his coat for a moment, and his unchanging face barely winces at the passing of his last boyhood friend. _When would that have been, the 1980s, perhaps? Would he have noticed?_ Charlie Chaplain and Mary Pickford walk past him a bit faster in sepia tones. Bread lines and hobos. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Inhumanly still he stands, in color, waiting and not knowing he is waiting. More soldiers, more parades. Atom Bombs. A sailor kisses a nurse in black and white, and Edward stares at them, knowing everything they think, but never feeling quite connected to their euphoric news. The images speed up as the decades fly past: James Dean, Natalie Wood, poodle skirts, the Korean War, and Technicolor. Business men and fashionable ladies, beat poets and hippies, protesters and assassins. Cold War. James Bond in several incarnations. Yuppies and punk and New Wave and grunge.

Only then am I born.

The images separate again, and the real Edward replaces the near-statue from my imagination. The end of the video shows people I recognize now, from my own time, but all of the images linger hauntingly in my mind. Actors who thrilled and faded; many of them have been dead for decades. Those who do not die, age as Edward never has and never will.

Over one hundred first snowfalls of winter touch him, but cannot leave a mark on him, as the passage of time has on everyone else, save his kind. All of these people, mere flashes of color in a pond, like fish swimming past, most of them barely noticed and soon forgotten amongst themselves. And still he remembers everything: every fire, flower, every footprint he ever made in a snow long forgotten by humans.

"Watch this," he brags, interrupting my thoughts as his fingers fly so quickly over the keys that they blur. "Can you hear it?"

"I can't even _see _it," I murmur. "It looks like you have 50 fingers right now. What am I supposed to be hearing?"

"Do you hear a melody?" he asks with a sly get-over-here smile.

Unable to resist, I go to him, touch his cheek, and immediately feel twice as alive. His face lights up like a Christmas tree at the contact, and I glow right back as his eyes find mine. It's always like this between us. Every time I think it can't last, it just gets stronger.

"Of course," I reply, and start to hum along as the melody repeats.

"It's an illusion,"* he confides, and slows the tempo until I can, in fact, no longer hear a melody in the notes. The notes of the melody are still there, but they sound more connected to the arpeggios than to each other.

"The first time I heard it, I could only hear the melody if I play it at this speed," he says, starting to play at a pace so fast it sounds like a noisy wind blowing through chimes.

I wind my arms around his neck and kiss my favorite spot at the hinge of his jaw.

"Is this going to be the theme of your recital?" I tease. "_Anything you can play, I can play faster_?"

"I think that's the unofficial theme of my recital, yes," he admits.

"I thought that was the official theme," I whisper sweetly in his ear. "I thought the unofficial title was _Seduce Bella With My Come-hither Finger Magic._"

Still playing, he turns his head to the side and slides in for a gentle, rhythmic kiss. I do my best to make his hair even messier. He doesn't miss a single note.

"You're getting better at this," I observe, pulling away.

"Shh, I wasn't finished yet," he smiles, recapturing my mouth with his.

I close my eyes, but all I see is Humphrey Bogart telling Ingrid Bergman to get on a plane, even though he loves her and she loves him.

"I want to know you," I say, breaking the kiss. I'm almost never the first to pull away.

"What brought this on?" he asks, looking surprised. "You do know me. Better than anyone, I think, except maybe Carlisle."

"In some ways, maybe," I say. "But you've experienced almost a century more than I have. You're always saying I don't understand. Maybe you're right. So, make me understand."

"We have to leave for class in ten minutes, Bella."

"I don't mean right this very second," I explain. "But I want to know more about you, about how you've existed until now … if you want to tell me, that is."

I look down at my hands, feeling embarrassed. I don't want to be a blur to him, not even a pleasant one.

"I love it that you want to know," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Here, close your eyes."

I don't even have time to completely close my eyes, and barely register the streak as he crosses the room and back.

"Now you can open them," he says, and I see the stack of leather-bound books on the table. I recognize them from the first visit to his apartment. I've always wanted to peek at them, but wouldn't dream of intruding on his privacy. Okay, maybe I'd dream of it, but I'd much prefer to be invited in than gatecrash his memories.

"Are these—?" I ask, smiling.

"My journals, in chronological order," he explains. "I have to warn you, most of it is mind-numbingly boring. Otherwise, it's just horrifying for about ten years if you know to read between the lines. I've been to high school and university more times than I care to admit. They're probably only useful a good sleep aid for you, not that you need one."

"But what about the rule?"

"The rule makes it necessary to never write any words I've been avoiding with you, in case anyone ever finds them. I've also had to change my name and handwriting from time to time. Here we go, from the beginning … Edward Anthony Masen, my birth name. If anyone were to ask I'd say they belong to various ancestors. The most interesting passages are just about things I've read or studied, and music I've played."

"Are you keeping one now?" I ask, curious.

"I write mostly while you sleep next to me," he admits. "And if you're stubborn enough to read all of this, you can read that one as well. It's far more exciting than the rest of them."

"Thank you," I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him.

I tuck the oldest one into my messenger bag, remembering I need to tell him something.

"By the way, I got an e-mail from my dad," I inform him. "He's coming this Friday afternoon for a visit. He seems … eager to make an impression on you."

I don't tell him that I invited him specifically for Friday, because I knew Billy would be busy with the tribal council at that time. I know he and Jacob are coming to the opera in three weeks, so there's really no reason for him to miss a council meeting just to grill the new boyfriend of a family friend. Between Billy and Charlie few words are necessary, but I'm frequently shocked by how much they both know about everyone in town and on the reservation. I can just imagine them stretching out what would be a 20-minute gossip session for anyone else into a long, mostly silent fishing trip. The last thing I need is for one of them to find a weakness in Edward's cover story, and then have the three-hour drive home to discuss it.

~oЖo~

Professor George seems to be in something of a mood as he takes me through scales and arpeggios at the beginning of our lesson. I'm doing my best to get into the zone and stay there, but it's nearly impossible when he keeps looking frustrated.

"Am I doing something wrong?" I ask, hopelessly distracted.

"Yes and no," he says, and plays a chord as if saying _enough_, before standing up. "No, because you are working very hard, and that's good. I knew when I saw your application that you would. Most students come to me wanting to see their names in lights, and I have to push them to practice. I am frustrated because with you it's the opposite. You do anything I ask of you — and believe me, I've been pushing you as much as the lazy students, just to see how much work you could absorb. The problem is, you have to _want_ this in order to handle the pressure later on."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," I say, baffled. "Of course I want to sing."

"That's fine, but what do you want to do with your _career_, Isabella?" he asks, cocking his head. "How far do you want to go in the opera world? What do you want to _be?_"

He's giving me that sharp, discerning stare of his, so I take a moment to think of exactly what I want to say.

"It isn't a question of what I want to be," I begin, "so much as a question of what I want to do. May I show you what I mean?"

He nods, and I bring out my laptop. I pull up two bookmarked videos. One of which he already knows — it's of himself, singing the Duke in _Rigoletto_. I know exactly what part I want, and I go to the timestamp for it. I play it for about half a minute, then switch to another bookmarked video, of Jessye Norman singing a Poulenc piece. I play about 20 seconds of that, because she does it all the time, and this just happens to be one of my favorite examples of what I mean.

"I want to do that," I say emphatically, pointing at the screen. "What you both did there. I don't even know how to explain what it is you're doing, but that's why I wanted to study with you. I wanted you to help me learn how to do that."

"Very interesting," he says, stroking his chin. "All right, then. If you can't explain what it is, can you at least describe the quality you find so compelling?"

I've been trying to put this into words for a long time, ever since Jake asked me what I liked about opera. I had described how, when Renee took me to see _Aida_ in Seattle, the singers had sung with so much volume and intensity that I could feel my own ribcage vibrating, and they didn't even have microphones. It wasn't just the power though, it was the power and the grace combined that really killed me. All of the singers on stage that night had enough power in their voices to impress me, but only one tenor had the kind of grace and beauty in the way he sang to make me forget he was singing. It felt like he was directly plugged into my subconscious, into my emotions, and I was dreaming the whole thing. It made me want to learn how to sing like that. And right now I'm looking at that same tenor and trying to form a coherent sentence.

"It's hard to describe," I begin. "But it reminds me of ice skating, especially the really muscular skaters. They look so graceful when they're twisting in the air … just, powerful and smooth, and it looks like it's impossible and totally easy at the same time."

"Good," he says, nodding. "Ice skating isn't a bad analogy at all. I use it with my graduate students sometimes. The high notes are a bit like jumps, and both require athleticism and artistry, it's true. It's just all visible in ice skating. In opera, you don't see any of that, but you should be able to hear it."

"What is it?" I ask. "Not everyone does it."

"Not everyone does it well. Most people manage some of it, or they'd never get hired," he laughs. "The power is obvious, which is why just about everyone gets that. Those who don't have power — usually coloratura sopranos — they get focus, which is what we usually call 'ping,' and it can cut across an orchestra. That's the difference between the sound of flicking your fingernail against plain old glass versus true crystal."

Here he stops to demonstrate, using two identical-looking wine glasses from a display case. He invites me to do the same, and I listen closely, applying the same amount of pressure for each flick.

"The smoothness, that's called line," he continues. "That's when you connect all the notes in a graceful manner, so that the listener never feels jostled, or jolted, out of the melody. Callas, for all her vocal problems, had a powerful voice and always sang with a superior line. She rarely dropped it. I sang with her in my youth a couple of times, and she taught me most of what I know about line by example."

I nod, rapt at this moment. I want to drink in every word he's saying. His eyes are gleaming now; he seems satisfied about something. Something about me.

"What you're listening to in these videos is the marriage of power, line, and focus. If you do it right, only great musicians can tell you why it sounds so good. You should never notice good technique. It should sound easy, effortless. Unless of course the listener tries to imagine doing it themselves, in which case it sounds impossible as well. When you add in good acting and a decent voice, you can sing anywhere you want to."

"When will I be able to sing like that?" I ask hungrily. I know I'm doing well, but I also can tell that there's a huge difference between Jessye Norman and what I can do.

"You're only nineteen; there's no way it will happen right now." he says plainly. "But you're on the right track. You'll have to work harder, and by that I mean really focus, all the time. Focus, and you'll be there within a few years. And that's early for a singer, very young. But you have to do what I say."

"Of course," I agree.

There's a knock on the door, and Edward steps into the room. He looks at Professor George, who settles in his seat with the score to _The Medium_, and studies him for a moment. As he passes me on the way to the piano, he winks at me.

"Tell you later," he whispers, almost too quickly and quietly for me to hear him. Sometimes I think he forgets I'm not a vampire. I take that as a good sign.

~oЖo~

Every single afternoon we have opera rehearsal from four to nine. Now that the music has been memorized, we're in staging rehearsals, but we're not on the actual stage yet. Instead we're in a ballet studio, using pieces of tape on the floor to remind us where there will eventually be walls and stairs and other props. Where there's supposed to be a sofa, there are two folding chairs instead. Not all of that rehearsal time is for _The Medium_. There are several scenes extracted from other operas so that every student has at least a small role, but since Edward is here I usually come for the whole rehearsal. If I have homework, I do that, or watch the other rehearsals to get a sense of what Dr. Adana wants. Mostly, however, I read Edward's journals. It's one of the best ways to drown out the constant gossiping, bitchy vibe buzzing in the studio.

The first journal is anything but boring. Even though the word "vampire" is never mentioned, I can read between the lines. The change itself is referred to as a house fire that Edward barely survives. The beginning seems to be a reconstruction of Edward's life story up until the time he was changed. The story is scant, with few details, but some things jump out at me in particular. Edward's mother had green eyes, as did he, in his human days. I try to picture it, and for some reason it makes me a little sad. His parents died of Spanish influenza, Edward very nearly joining them.

Some of the handwriting is very different, and he confirms that it belongs to Carlisle, where he filled in a few parts that Edward couldn't recall on his own. Apparently when one changes, the human existence becomes a hazy memory at best, like trying to remember one's dreams upon awaking. There's a fascinating account of Edward's "recovery" from the fire. Every emotion, every skill, his strength, the ability to read people that he had inherited from his mother — all of these things were magnified exponentially, so that he had to learn how to function almost like a newborn child.

He only wrote that the so-called house fire was "indescribably painful," and Carlisle's notes express intense guilt at watching him suffer. Reading about his year in isolation with Carlisle deep in the woods begins to solidify my resolve. I can understand now that he doesn't want to see me suffer, but I don't think three days is too much in comparison with the reward of being with Edward someday as an equal. I'm in no rush, so there's no reason to push it, but I start my own journal in my computer. I begin by recording everything I can remember that I'll want to know later on, including everything I know about my family history.

For _The Medium,_ there are five cast members besides me. Four are in the undergraduate opera class, and one is from the School of Theater and Dance, for the non-singing role of Toby, the mute boy who falls in love with Monica, my character. It's a major relief that this guy and the contralto who plays Madame Flora (Monica's mother) are in the minority of people in the room who don't hate me. Annike, the contralto, seems to actually like me a little bit in spite of the gossip.

"Anything that annoys those girls is fine with me," she confides during the first rehearsal. "They always make everything unpleasant. So unnecessary."

Annike is almost ten years older than I am, having first earned bachelor's and master's degrees in Italian. She and Leo constantly help me with staging terminology, telling me that "blocking" refers to any movement on stage, and "off-book" means to have everything memorized. I can't imagine what Christine would write in her Bitchsplosion blog if she knew how much they helped me. Monday's rehearsal was the worst.

"Stage right is the other way," Leo whispers to me, gently redirecting me with a light push.

"Thanks," I whisper back, blushing.

I was not so lucky in the rest of my cast mates. The other soprano, Venka, is one of Christine's closest friends. She's very pretty and sings relatively well. It's sometimes hard to believe that such hateful things could come out of her pretty mouth, but they do. The mezzo-soprano, a relatively average-looking woman with a lovely voice, is not as mean as the others, at least when Venka's not around. I try to ignore them. Robbie, the baritone from Dr. George's studio, plays Mr. Gobineau, and is a completely different problem. I can tell that Edward thinks he likes me a little too much, though he generally doesn't say anything to me about it. The scowling says it all.

I'm standing off to the side, waiting for rehearsal to start, when I feel Edward's gaze. _Glare_, I correct mentally as I flinch from the anger I see on his face. He's always saying I should be afraid of him, but I've never believed him until now. He is fucking scary at this moment, but I can't imagine why.

"_What did I do?" _I whisper so quietly only he can hear, and his face softens in an instant. I notice that his eyes have refocused slightly, and he shakes his head a little bit. I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn to find Robbie and Leo standing right behind me.

"Bella," Robbie whispers, staring at Edward. "Your boyfriend is kind of freaking me out. Does Edward have a history of violence? Should I be worried?"

"He's your boyfriend?" Leo asks before I get a chance to reply. "Damn…"

I _knew_ he had a crush on Edward.

"Yes," I laugh, "to all of those questions. He hasn't fought anyone for my honor since last fall, but I wouldn't push him, Robbie. He's very perceptive, so just think of me as a sister, and I'm sure he won't hurt you."

"There's no way I could think of you as my sister," he says incredulously, ogling my chest so much I cross my arms in front. I hear the subtle but all-too-familiar sound of a piano key cracking and kick Robbie in the shin.

"Ow! Maybe I should have asked about your history of violence, Bella," he complains.

"You totally deserved that," Leo grins. "Show some respect, for crying out loud. Bella's a sweet girl. And stop making the pretty piano player angry, or I'll kick your ass, too."

"Okay, okay," Robbie relents, hands in the air. "Just tell Edward to stop making those crazy eyes at me. It's making me forget my part."

"Oh, don't worry. He's hearing about it," I smile, satisfied.

I would never tell Edward this, because I don't want to encourage this kind of behavior, but it's kind of insanely hot when he's jealous.

~oЖo~

On Friday afternoon rehearsal is only an hour, and afterward we meet with Charlie.

"Are you sure this place is okay, Dad?" I ask nervously as Angela leaves to go get our drink order.

Charlie's frowning at the menu like it's written in Chinese. I know it's just his usual preference for all things familiar, but since I have no kitchen and it would be more than awkward to cook for him at Edward's small apartment, we've got to go with a restaurant.

"I told you, I want to see where you hang out," he reminds me, putting the menu down. "Much easier to picture you this way when you're away from home. Besides, what did your old man ever need besides a burger and fries?"

He looks uncomfortably at Edward, who is also frowning at the menu. I can't believe he's going to eat something. From his journal I know he's done it before, but he'll have to vomit soon after. I don't know if Charlie will be impressed tonight, but I am. He really wants to make a good impression.

"Don't you have the menu memorized by now?" Charlie asks Edward in his interrogation voice. "Just order what you always get."

"I already did," Edward replies smoothly. "We usually come here for the music, not the food."

I'm relieved that Edward isn't lying to my dad. I understand now that he lies to protect his identity, but only when absolutely necessary. I also told him that Charlie's nickname among state and local law officials is "The Lie Detector." I didn't tell Edward that he's not as good of a liar as he thinks he is. He's pretty good, but if I can tell when he's lying, Chief Swan can,too.

By the end of the meal, Edward has successfully navigated every question Charlie has thrown at him, including the tough ones about his age and status as a doctoral candidate. Most of this he's accomplished by coming off as incredibly modest, which is an enormous lie as far as I'm concerned, but Charlie seems to respond well to this tactic. He hates people who brag, and he already knows that Edward is amazing because he heard him play while we were waiting for our food. A couple of undergraduate piano students had come to our table and begged Edward to play the Paganini-Liszt piece _La Campanella_,which had apparently dazzled them during his piano teacher's weekly master class. After a polite denial and Charlie's insistence, he finally relented.

I could tell that Charlie was impressed, both with Edward's playing and his modest acceptance of the standing ovation.

At the end of the meal, Edward excuses himself to go to the restroom. I feel a little guilty for putting him in his apparent discomfort, but it gives Charlie and me a little time to talk before he has to drive back.

"You really like this one, don't you, Bells?" he says quietly. "I've never seen you look that way at anyone before."

"I know, Dad," I reply, unable to repress a goofy grin.

"Is he respectful of you?" he asks gruffly. "Or was that all just for show, for the old man?"

"Oh Dad," I say laughing. "He's so old-fashioned that it's almost painful sometimes. I'm getting spoiled; he always holds the door open for me, and it took him forever just to kiss me."

"It did?" he asks, surprised. I nod. "Well then, I can't very well complain, then. I did my best to scare him tonight, and I have to say he was very mature about it."

"So, you approve?" I ask.

"Do you need my approval?" he says, frowning. "I thought girls these days didn't do that sort of thing."

"You're the two men I love most in this world," I say simply. "I'd like to know you're okay with that."

"I still see you as my little girl," he warns. "But he seems decent, and if you care about him he must be something special. I approve, for now. If he hurts you—"

"He won't," I say, smiling. "I won't let him."

"Oh, my baby girl," he whispers. "I hope you're right."

~oЖo~

With a brief hug for me and a dangerously firm-looking handshake for Edward, Charlie leaves directly from the Keys parking lot. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief. I don't want to have to pretend to go to my dorm room alone just for show.

"So, what was he thinking?" I ask, swinging our joined hands between us as we walk across campus.

"I can only tell you a few things," Edward looks with amusement at me. "He's almost as silent as you are. I could sometimes hear him when he seemed to be addressing his thoughts specifically to me. He wanted to dislike me, but couldn't, really. He thinks my hands are too cold, but he appreciated the firmness of the handshake. He'll shoot me if I hurt you. He really liked it when you said it took me forever to kiss you. _That _came through loud and clear, even from across the bar while I was in that horrible lavatory. He thinks we're pretty serious."

I glance at him shyly when I hear his voice drop a bit in pitch when he says this last bit. He slows us to a stop in front of the biggest fountain on campus, lifts our hands and kisses each one of my fingers near the knuckle, his lips lingering for a long moment on the ring finger of my left hand before moving on. My breath hitches, and I can feel my pulse racing. The cold night air feels charged with an exuberant energy that makes me want to start running as fast as I can. We are standing utterly still, and yet I feel that we're racing somehow. Rolling clouds pass over the moon, and I can almost hear the gentle twinkling of the few visible stars.

"Bella," he says softly. "I overheard you say that your father and I are the two men you love most in the world."

"Of course," I reply, just as softly. "You know that."

"You've never said it to me," he trails a cold finger lightly down my nose, touches my lips and starts to trace my cheekbones. "At least, not while you're awake."

"Neither have you," I point out. "But I think you do, anyway."

His eyes widen a bit, and he wraps his arms around me. He kisses me gently, almost reverently, on the lips. When he pulls away he looks almost sad.

"See that, there?" I say, tracing his face in the same way he had been tracing mine just moments ago. "That's why I haven't said it. You're holding back, and I'm afraid you won't believe me because you feel so guilty about what you are."

"I love you," he says quickly, and his eyes widen again, this time in surprise. "I love you," he repeats fervently. "But I don't deserve you."

"I love you," I tell him. "And _I_ don't deserve _you_. But I want you anyway."

He bends his head to kiss me, and his lips and the stars and my racing heart- it's too much but I tilt my head and push up with my toes and reach for more. We both forget to be careful and I get a bit dizzy from his sweet vampy hypno-breath. We haven't made that mistake for weeks.

"Bella," he says, looking concerned as I blink. "Sorry, love. I wasn't careful."

"Mm-hmm, _love_," I say, grinning. "I like that. Make me as dizzy as you want if you keep talking like that. I'm yours to toy with."

"Does that mean I can beat Robbie and Leo to within an inch of their lives, Bella, my love?" he asks pleadingly.

"What?" I ask, pulling away. "I thought you liked Leo. You're not offended because he's got a crush on you, are you?"

"I did like Leo," he says resentfully. "Until he found out we were together. His fantasies before that moment were very mild, and he was mostly concentrating on memorizing his blocking. Unfortunately, he's a method actor and swings both ways, my way slightly more than yours. Ever since you kicked Robbie in the shins, for which I still have not thanked you enough, he's been imagining … how shall I put this? The three of us together, naked."

"You're kidding!" I say, shocked. "Really?"

"Quite vividly, in fact."

"Huh," I say, trying to figure out how I missed the clues that Leo was bi. I just thought he was a really good actor.

Edward narrows his eyes at me.

"You're intrigued!" he accuses heatedly, his jealous streak on full display like a peacock's tail.

"Seriously, Edward," I huff in exasperation. "We've never even seen each other naked, and you think that I'm going to go from that to wanting to be in a threesome? Come on."

"I … no, of course I don't think that," he says quickly. Too quickly. He looks guilty as hell about something.

"You know you don't think that?" I ask, going into Charlie's patented lie-detector mode: Break it down, expose the guilt.

"I don't think you want to be in a threesome," he says, and I believe him.

"We've never seen each other naked?" I ask in the same manner, and his face tightens, almost imperceptibly, before he relaxes again.

"Bella, love…" he says, but doesn't continue.

Gotcha.

"Well, I know _I_ certainly haven't had the pleasure, so that leaves one thing. You've seen _me_ naked?" I ask, point blank.

"Technically, yes," he says, looking appropriately chagrined. "But, in my defense, I thought you had a fever, and, well, you sort of did, in a way, and you took off your nightgown in your sleep before I could stop you. It was only for a few moments, and I left as soon as … as soon as I could."

"_Nightgown_?" I gasp. I've only ever worn a nightgown once since meeting him, and that was a memorable night. "You were in Forks?"

"Yes, I told you, I was protecting you while you slept," he says, furiously backpedaling.  
"I didn't stop while you were in Forks. I'm sorry. I wasn't going to come in that night, but you were moaning in your sleep, and I thought you might be sick. I wanted to put the nightgown back on you, but you were … uh, sort of restless, and I just couldn't."

I can tell he's not lying, at least. That explains so much: why I woke up naked, the tiny bruises. I'm torn between embarrassment, anger, amusement, and curiosity. Curiosity wins eventually. It always does.

"Well?" I demand.

"I'm sorry," he says again miserably. "I apologized after, without telling you exactly why I was apologizing. I never meant for that to happen, honestly."

"I remember, and I believe you," I sigh, remembering his elaborate, mysterious apology in our first meeting after the holiday. "I know that your intentions were honorable, and I've already forgiven you for the stalking a long time ago. I don't even blame you for not telling me. I probably wouldn't have told you either, if our roles had been reversed. That's not what I'm asking."

"What, then?" he says, looking a bit relieved and confused — both unusual expressions for him.

"You can't just tell me you've seen me naked and then not say anything about how I looked," I complain, embarrassed that he's making me spell it out. "Now I'm just thinking about every imperfection."

"Then you have nothing to think about. Bella, you don't have any imperfections," he says heatedly, and I'm slightly mollified to hear it. Not entirely, though.

"I thought you had these wonder spidey senses," I worry. "Did you not see all the little scars from my chronic clumsiness growing up? The random freckles? I'm so not perfect."

"I've memorized those constellations," he murmurs dreamily, giving me a look that more than makes up for not saying anything earlier.

His eyes heat my blood as his long elegant index finger reaches out to touch me, over my clothes, in the precise location of every freckle and scar that ever lingered on my body.

"There," he says, tapping four times rapidly on my right shoulder, exactly where a cluster of freckles lies beneath my sweater and coat. "There … There. Those look precisely like the Southern Cross."

He places his hand lightly on my waist, and draws a line from my navel to just below my solar plexus. I narrow my eyes at him and he takes his hand away. Neither one of us steps away.

"This scar, here, reminds me of Cygnus, the swan. How did you get it?"

"Barbed wire," I say, rubbing my stomach. I can't keep the lust out of my voice, but something's still bugging me. "You're not out of the doghouse yet, Edward Cullen."

"What can I do?" he asks earnestly. "Just tell me, and I'll make it up to you."

"Take me back to my dorm," I sigh, "there might be one thing."

Fortunately the distance to my dorm is pretty short. It looks, as it should, pretty un-lived-in. I start digging in my closet, and put some things into my book bag while Edward stares at my bookcase. I can tell he's trying to give me some privacy, and it's torturing him.

"What did you get?" he asks, as we walk back to his apartment.

"Right now I'm not happy that you have a memory of us that I don't have," I inform him, "So I want us to relive it, except with me awake this time."

"Bella, no," he says disapprovingly. "That was really dangerous. You have no idea how close I came that night."

"How close you came to what?" I ask, curiously.

He opens the door for me and stops me before I can make it too far past the threshold.

"Everything, Bella," he confesses, his voice deep and smooth. "I wanted … it doesn't matter what I wanted. It was dangerous. Anything could have happened. It very nearly did, and in your _sleep_, while I was supposed to be protecting you."

"Tell me what you wanted, Edward," I insist, taking off my coat. His eyes travel slowly over my body then, and I blush. I know he's thinking of that night. "You told me you'd make it up to me. If I'm really pushing you too far, explain it to me. You owe me that much."

"True," he says, carefully placing his keys on a hook by the door. He looks at me speculatively. "I was thirsty. I hadn't hunted recently, and I could have killed you."

I gasp. He shrugs, and crosses his arms, staring at me intently. It's unnerving, but I know he's trying to change my mind.

"I thought—" I say, confused. "I thought you _wanted_ me."

"I did," he says, stepping closer to me, so close I can feel the pull that's always there. Lately we just close the gap and hold each other, but he's letting the tension build for some reason. I start to lean in and he takes my chin, lifting my face to his. His hand is gentle, but his eyes are burning. _Hello, Tyger._

"I do," he corrects. "You had just come out of the shower, a very hot shower, I believe. I was standing below your window, but your scent. … I told myself that you had a fever, that it was my fault for keeping you outside in the cold."

His fingers barely skim over my neck, and he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. He caresses my ear, and I shiver like I always do. He cups his hand under my hair and lifts it up, leaning in to kiss me on _that_ spot, the place I told him he could kiss me and then do whatever he wanted with me. I see where he's going with this, the big cheater.

"I wanted you in every way that night," he murmurs right into my ear, his cool breath sending exquisite tremors down the left side of my body. "I wanted to taste you, the way my kind tastes. The way that kills, Bella. You smell delicious."

He licks my neck, and I gasp again, but not because I'm afraid. He looks into my eyes, and I see determination there. I can tell he's well within control, so I decide to push.

"But you didn't," I argue. "I trust you. You were hungry, and you stopped yourself then, when you could have gotten away with it. You cared too much to hurt me, and that was only our first date. We just admitted that we're in love. You won't kill me. You can hunt while I'm in the shower."

_He_ gasps, then tightens his jaw. He's not giving up yet either. He frames my face between his hands and kisses me. _Really_ kisses me, more passionately than he's ever kissed me before. I hold my breath to keep from getting dizzy and kiss him back with equal passion. I am not afraid of us going further. He groans and breaks away, nuzzling my throat as I take a ragged breath.

My hands are in his hair as I'm pressing into him, but he keeps me at what is probably a safe distance from the lower half of his body. He kisses me again in that spot, and I moan uncontrollably. His eyes get really wild then, and I let out another moan, this time I don't even think to stop it.

"I wanted to take you," he growls threateningly, "when you sat up in bed and stripped off your nightgown, I couldn't move, and suddenly, you were just there, in my arms, and I was touching you. You said my name and moaned just … like … that."

One of his hands cradles the small of my back, and the other runs up and down my side, hovering just on the side of my breast. He looks searchingly into my eyes, and now I don't know whether he's trying to scare me or ask for permission. Like I haven't been begging for it for weeks. Not literally begging for it, but he's almost always the one who pulls away. As his hand travels up the side of my body again, he doesn't hover this time, but fully palms my breast. We both moan this time, the sounds mingling in our parted lips. My nipples get hard and I'm sure he can feel it through my sweater, just as I can feel him now that he's no longer holding himself away from me. I take a deep breath and feel his erection press hard against my stomach.

"Fuck," he whispers. "This is not going the way I planned."

"Edward," I murmur throatily. My voice feels like it belongs to someone else. To Lauren Bacall, maybe. "I'm glad you didn't, that night. I'm glad you controlled yourself. It's different now. I want you to touch me. I _need_ you to touch me."

"I wanted to change you," he says harshly, his hand moving from my breast to touch my neck. "I almost bit you, right here. I was so close. I didn't care about taking you away from your father, about asking your permission, about the pain it would cause you, about any of that. I wanted to change you and make you mine, like the selfish beast that I am. I don't deserve your trust."

"You do," I reply, shaking my head. "I'm glad you wanted to. I want you to change me, someday. No, don't make that face. I know you don't want to hear it, and we don't have to talk about it now, certainly not at this moment, but I do want to talk about it soon. You're so worried about everything that almost happened."

He steps away from me and starts to pace. I can taste the victory, and it tastes good. Almost as good as Edward himself.

"But it didn't, because you stopped yourself," I continue, smiling at him invitingly. "I trust you more than you trust yourself, and so far you've proven me right. Now you know what to expect, and we've been practicing. Go hunt. Give me twenty minutes. I trust you. I love you. I just want to share this memory. Please?"

I'm pretty sure it's the "please" that does it, because his face changes then; his eyes soften, and he suddenly looks like he wants this as much as I do. He stays silent for a moment, then nods, as if finally agreeing with himself.

"You really need all twenty minutes?" he asks. "I can be back in fifteen."

He kisses me gently, and I hear the sound of jangling metal. He's gone by the time I open my eyes. His keys are gone, too, so I lock the door and hurry into the shower. I hang my nightgown on the towel rack so that the steam irons out any wrinkles gained by lying in my suitcase for several weeks and try to recreate that night in my mind. I know I was listening to Nina Simone, so I start singing in the shower as I shave my legs.

When I emerge from the bathroom, wearing the nightgown and feeling hot and pulsing and loved and adored, I'm instantly snatched into Edward's arms and flying towards the bed.

"I'm pretty sure this is _not_ a faithful recreation of that night," I say breathlessly as he presses me into the bed.

"Are you complaining?" he demands playfully, and I shake my head.

"No, though I do wish you were naked, too, come to think of it," I mumble, thinking of how easily he gave in. I should have asked for Edward to get naked right away.

"Too far. Too dangerous," he says emphatically, kissing me again. "Let me just touch you and make you make that sound again. Remember, tell me to be gentle if I hurt you."

I notice a tiny drop of red blood on his shirt, and reach up to touch it. I doubt he knows it's there, but it's a good reminder of the truth, and what he's just done in the woods behind the complex. I wonder why his breath doesn't taste coppery, like blood. I decide I don't really want to know…for now.

"I will," I promise. I think of reaching down to take off my nightgown, but it doesn't feel right, so I pull him to me instead, and we start making out, like usual. This time is different, because his hands have acquired new territory, and he's definitely not retreating from it.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, kissing each freckle on my shoulder. "So warm. I love you, Bella, my Bella."

He kisses my shoulders and my collar bone, fondling my nipples through the fabric with both hands until they stand stiff. He kisses to the tops of my breasts, the parts exposed by the neckline. He does not go further.

"Edward," I sigh. "My love, touch me. I want to feel you, come here."

I feel my nightgown riding up as he presses into me. He's still fully clothed, of course, but the friction is amazing and precisely where I need it to be.

We rock into each other, my pulse pounding, almost audibly, right where he's pressed hard up against me.

"Can you feel that?" I whisper, trembling.

"I can hear it even," he grunts, and I wonder if he's close as well.

"Touch me," I beg and he does, through the silky fabric, and I moan and shake. He's mostly keeping still as I convulse against his hand, and everything inside of me seems to compress. I feel like an electrical storm is passing inside me, sending flashes of light and intensity throughout my body to every nerve ending and every cell. Outside of all this I can hear our voices, repeating each other's names as if it were some new language we just discovered. It feels ridiculous and new and it makes complete sense.

"I love you," we say, learning new words together as I twitch against him.

"Be still now," he says, spooning me and smoothing out my nightgown. I can still feel him hard against my back. I could have sworn something was happening for him at that moment as well. I felt it, but maybe not physically.

"What about you?" I ask sleepily.

"I'm enjoying myself thoroughly," he laughs, fluttering his fingers along the curve of my hip. "Just think of it as a very pleasurable extension of our practice. You sleep. I'll see about recreating the rest of that memory."

The silk still covers me, but I'm too tired to do anything about it.

"Wake me up if anyone gets naked," I say sleepily. "Especially if it's you."

"You'll be the first to know," he promises, and this time I believe him.

He starts to hum my lullaby, and I fall blissfully over the edge again, this time into dreams of nothing but Edward.

**A/N**

*** It's true about the auditory illusion with the Sinding, also applies to Chopin's **_**Fantasy Impromptu in C-sharp Minor, Opus 66**_**, from chapter 10.**

**www (dot) newscientist (dot) com/article/dn13355-music-special-five-great-auditory-illusions- (dot) html**

**Oh, and my friend and Operatic partner in crime made a "welcome to the operatic jungle", which I think is perfect for a certain bitchsplosion outtake which has yet to be written. I'm looking at you, Amanda!**

**Here's the link: youtube (dot) com/watch?v=vV5pETWkal8**

**Reviews get previews!**


	16. L'invitation au voyage

**Chapter 16: L'invitation au voyage**

**A/N: Thanks to Betatastic NelsonSmandela and, as usual, Feisty & Algie for the music. **

**Chapter Music (youtube)**

**Chopin: **_**Polonaise in F# minor**_** performed by Horowitz**

**/watch?v=Lq-ScKoB_BY**

**Henri DuParc: **_**L'invitation au voyage**_** performed by Jessye Norman**

**/watch?v=HwaYbshcSa0**

**Guggenheim Grotto: **_**Her Beautiful Ideas**_

**/watch?v=G9U2N4i20Rs**

~oЖo~

I wake up during the night to the sound of Edward talking on the phone. He's got his back to me, and the sodium light from a street lamp outside gives his silhouette a soft golden glow. He's whispering, but he's angry, and I quietly slip out of bed to go to him. He glances over his shoulder at me guiltily before leaning his forehead against the glass.

"No, Carlisle, I do not think I am overreacting," he says. "I think you're far too trusting. You only see the good in people."

His words gain speed until I hear nothing but a faint buzz and the neighbor's wind chimes.

I slip my arms around his waist and rest my face against his back, melting into him. His free hand covers my clasped fingers, and he seems to relax incrementally as I kiss his back. The breeze starts to ripple and garble until I can understand what he's saying again.

"Sure, that will be fine," he says, sighing. "No, of course not; I just want more time, that's all. We'd love a visit. As soon as you want, whenever you get back from Volterra." A pause. "What? Yes, she is. Of course I will. Give my love to everyone, too."

"Carlisle sends bad news and his love?" I inquire softly.

"Not really bad news," he sighs. "I suppose I could be overreacting a little."

"To what?" I ask.

"Carlisle claims his friends in Volterra are trustworthy," he says, shaking his head. "But some of his thoughts haven't always been consistent in this regard."

A chill runs down my spine.

"So what happened?" I press.

"He shook Aro's hand," he mutters.

"Really, Edward?" I ask, confused. "You're upset because Carlisle shook one of his friends' hands? Wait, is that the one Dr. George talks to? I remember you muttering his name under your breath once, but I thought you were talking about something else."

"Yes, that's the one. He has a gift similar to mine, in that he can read minds," he explains. "Except his works through touch. He can't read anyone's mind without touching their skin directly, but unlike me, he has access to every thought the person has ever had. He claims that Aro finds us _interesting. _He invited us both to study music in Volterra next year."

"He did?" I ask, feeling excited and nervous at once. "Dr. George is going to be thrilled."

"Bella," he sighs. "I don't want you to misunderstand. We can't get away with this situation for very long. Even if he allows you to remain human for a while, his … _interest …_ is not necessarily a good thing. He has a habit of collecting talented people."

"Dr. George explained all that to me," I remind him. "He says that these mysterious patrons completely made his career."

"I don't just mean talented humans, Bella." His eyes seem to focus, not on anything in the room but rather on some distant memory. "He surrounds himself with talented people in order to retain authority. He knows I can read minds, and he knows I can't read yours. This indicates that you may also have a talent of some kind. I don't like it. I don't want him thinking about us acquisitively."

"You think I could have some kind of talent like yours when I change?" I ask curiously.

"_If _you change," he corrects. "You most likely would have a talent. I'm going to guess that it has to do with your extreme stubbornness. You're remarkably intractable for a human; I bet your thick skull won't allow any power in the universe to penetrate it. Now that I mention it, it would be quite something to see you get into a grudge match with Rosalie."

He smiles, and I realize it's one of the few times he's ever mentioned his sister.

"What is she like?" I ask, refusing to argue with him. "Besides being stubborn, if that's how you want to characterize the highly underrated virtue of constancy, that is?"

Okay, I was willing to argue a little bit.

"Yes, _constancy_," he laughs, clearly amused. "That is the polite way to put it. Let's see, she's vain — incredibly so — selfish, and before she found her mate, really angry, almost all the time, though she had good reason to be. Since she found Emmett, she's a lot happier. She's very loyal; I suppose that's something good I can say about her. We're not very close, but we can always count on each other."

"You mentioned them coming for a visit," I remind him. "Does this mean we're not going to Paris for spring break?"

"No, no we aren't," he says, frowning again. "Are you very disappointed?"

"No, I'm okay with waiting if it really makes you feel better," I assure him. "I've been to Paris, and we can go later when we're in Italy next year."

"Carlisle could be right about me overreacting, but I just don't think it's safe right now," he admits. "I don't really think it will be much safer later, but it will give me time to think, and give you some time as a human if they decide you have to be changed immediately. Aro insisted that we should visit him whenever we come to Paris, and I'd prefer to wait until the last possible moment. August, perhaps, before we have to set up in Volterra."

Then it hits me. "So does that mean your family will be here for spring break? That's just in a couple of weeks! What if they come to the opera and I don't sing well? Edward, Billy's coming that night! What if he recognizes Carlisle?"

"Relax, Bella," he shushes me, rubbing my shoulders so gently I barely feel it. "Billy's too young to have ever seen Carlisle. He'll use a different name if there's any chance of interaction. You're going to sing beautifully, and anyway I seriously doubt they'll be here by then. Carlisle promised he would help Aro and Marcus with something, and then they'll come after that. That could mean one week or several months; he couldn't say for sure. But I'm betting it won't be for a while."

"Okay," I sigh. "Thanks. It's nice of you to comfort me while you're still wound up."

"I feel like a complete ass for waking you," he says, kissing my temple. "You need sleep."

"Tomorrow's Sunday." I reply, "I'll sleep in. Will you play me something? I'm too excited about Italy to sleep now."

"If you like," he smiles at me. "What would you like to hear?"

"Do what you always do," I urge. "Play whatever strikes your mood. You'll feel better faster."

"I told you," he whispers into my hair. "You know me better than you think."

"I'm glad your apartment is so isolated," I say, thinking of the stairs below us and the buffering bathroom and closet between Edward's apartment and the one next door. It's an excellent set-up for a pianist who never sleeps.

We sit down at the piano, and he starts to play a few ominous notes in repetition, smiling wryly at me. The Chopin polonaise starts off pretty intense and a little scary, but soon eases into a gentle interlude. I lean my head against his shoulder until his arms move around too much as the tune returns with rousing passion.

"If that's your mood, I'm all for it," I murmur flirtatiously as he finishes.

Unfortunately the next thing that comes out of my mouth, to my surprise and embarrassment, is a huge yawn. Watching Edward's hands while he plays always turns me on, but it is 3 a.m., and I'm really sleepy now that the anxiety has settled down considerably.

"Come on," he says, lifting me as though I weigh nothing more than a feather pillow. "Let's get you to bed."

"I hate sleeping," I mumble dreamily.

"Too bad, dreamy girl," he smirks, settling me under the covers. "Mr. Sandman has already arrived."

I fall asleep to the sound of him humming my lullaby, and the feel of his arms around me, snug and rigid like one of those metal safety bars that holds you in on a rollercoaster ride.

~oЖo~

My knuckles barely touch Professor George's door when it flies open to reveal him looking as giddy as school girl.

"Isabella, come in, come in!" he greets me, looking up and down the hall.

Even though I know what he's going to say, I'm supposed to look surprised, but I compromise by reining in my genuine enthusiasm for next year's study abroad until he tells me.

"You look happy," I observe truthfully. "Good news?"

"The best, _Bella Cigna_, the very best," he beams. "We've done it. You and I have done it. They want you for the program next year. You're going to Italy!"

"That's great!" I say with a huge grin. "I can hardly believe it. Thank you, Professor!"

He looks so happy at my reaction that I start to feel a bit guilty.

"Look at you, blushing!" Dr. George laughs, taking my discomfort as a sign of excitement. "And before you can get all worked up over the idea of leaving that gorgeous boyfriend of yours behind, I can tell you right now he has also been accepted into the program as well. Though, do me a favor and pretend you don't know when I give him the news. I couldn't wait to tell you, and I'm sure he wants to be here when you find out."

Sure, why not, while we're at it? Let's just add it to the woodpile and start a big liar fire so we can all light our pants with it. Dr. George's request leaves me feeling a bit less guilty for my small bit of misdirection. I'm so not warning Edward about this.

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of telling him and spoiling all the fun." I smile with genuine enthusiasm. "I can't thank you enough — I know how far you went out of your way for me, helping me be with Edward and everything. I really appreciate it."

"When you're my age," he intones excitedly, "you may find that you get as much pleasure from helping a student follow your path. Besides, you and Edward are good together. You're both attractive, and the romance will sell tickets when you're on the recital circuit."

I laugh, unable to be annoyed with his terrifyingly practical nature. He's twinkling like ten Christmas trees. We talk about his time in Italy for a while, and manage to work in a few vocalises just before Edward's arrival.

"You're kidding!" Edward exclaims when he hears the news. "I can't believe you got both of us in!" If I didn't know him better, I'd say he seems genuinely excited and surprised enough for Dr. George, but I can tell he's faking it. It's just a tiny tightening around the eyes. Probably nobody could ever tell except someone completely addicted to staring at him. Which, yes, I admit I am. It's an issue, and it's not going away any time soon.

While we're talking about Italy, I suddenly remember Jasper's request for two songs and mention it to Dr. George.

"Good for you for managing to get yourself on the program," he says, looking impressed. "I've been hearing a lot of buzz about young Mr. Whitlock's ambitious project. 'The History of Sound,' isn't it? Multiple lectures peppered with live performances on rare historical instruments, tied in with multimedia installations at the university museum? The flyers alone look very sharp. The first time I saw them I thought it was going to be a showing of a new Ken Burns documentary."

"He's our friend," I shrug lamely. "He and his wife, Alice. I think she did the flyers. She tends to go a little nuts when it comes to presentation."

By "nuts," I mean she spent the better part of a day cursing and snarling at Photoshop and anyone who dared interrupt her. The flyers do look amazing, I have to admit.

"Those are good friends for you to cultivate," he intones approvingly, and I try not to wince at his cynical view of friendships. "That kind of attention to detail is what sets apart A-listers from B-listers, Isabella."

He starts rifling through his file cabinet of sheet music. Edward takes this opportunity to give me a hungry look that makes me want to rip his clothes off. I space out for a minute, staring at his mouth. I can almost feel it on my mouth, my neck, and soon my imagination has his luscious lips going lower than they ever have in reality. A delicious shudder passes _all _the way through me, and I feel the ridiculous blush set my face ablaze for the second time in an hour. I finally get back to Edward's eyes and notice with a nervous jolt that he's gone all jungle beast again. It's a little bit scary and completely hot, but he doesn't jump across the piano like I think he might. Fortunately Dr. George starts talking before he turns around, and we're brought back to reality before we get caught.

"I have just the thing. You should do one of your Schubert Lieder from last semester for the restrained piece — I think the staccato from the _Ständchen_ will work nicely on the fortepiano. And for the lush romantic Art song … perfect. Here we are, Duparc's _L'invitation au voyage_. Yes, perfect for Edward, excellent for teaching line. And the words are perfect for you two, if you'll forgive me. Listen to this translation:

_Think of the rapture_

_Of living together there! _

_Of loving at will, _

_Of loving till death,_

_In the land that is like you!_

Yes, just so, my dears, just so. I think you'll find Volterra like this, as I always have. See, isn't it perfect?

_There all is order and beauty,_

_Luxury, peace, and pleasure."_

He gives these final words a true artist's vocal caress, and I can't help but imagine what life will be like, living with Edward in Italy next year. I wonder if I'll even be human. Edward's face is a study in mixed emotions, and it makes me wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

"It's beautiful," I agree.

"We should dive into it right away if there's any chance of performing it next Wednesday. If it's not ready by then you can just do the Marx. And I don't want you over-singing. Don't be a hero and sing so much you lose your voice."

~oЖo~

Later, in the library, Edward places a book in my hand, open to the text of the new song and an English translation on the facing page. I flip the cover and read the title: _Les Fleurs du mal. _I frown and stare up at him.

"_The Flowers of Evil_?" I ask, vaguely remember having heard the curious title from somewhere before. "Are you trying to scare me?"

"I'm trying to help you understand," he says quietly. "You'll find our friend Emil George edits a bit, but he's right. This poetry is perfect for Volterra."

"Are you overreacting?" I ask, thumbing through the slim volume of French poetry. At first glance it seems sexy and dangerous and very well-named. "You said you've never been there before. It could be different from what you imagine. If Carlisle could live there before and still want to visit now, it can't be so bad."

"I hope you're right," he replies, watching my face carefully. "But I do know for certain that their diet isn't like that of my family's. It's more … traditional … for my kind."

~oЖo~

Between rehearsals, my regular coursework and having a new song to memorize, the week passes by quickly. I haven't had nearly enough time to read Edward's journals, and by Friday I'm only up to entries dated 1926. The tone of his writing starts to gets increasingly gloomy, and I start to realize what must be coming up. I know his killing season started fairly early in his time as a vampire. Most of the passages refer to Dostoyevsky's _Crime and Punishment_, which seems to have been in part the catalyst for his rebellion. Edward writes for pages and pages about how the character Raskolnikov is blind to his true motivations, but not entirely off in his reasoning that some homicides are justifiable, and some people are above the norms of morality.

_If one could read minds, _he writes in an entry dated Christmas Eve of 1926, _then his whole rationale would be entirely valid. If such a person existed who could read minds, he would be practically obligated to kill evil men, particularly murderers and rapists. Truly evil men feel no remorse for their crimes, but the onus of their crimes would fall severely on the conscious of the telepath who could prevent such atrocities from occurring._

I'm waiting in the audience during _The Magic Flute_ opera scene rehearsal when I finally come to his decision to separate from Carlisle and Esme. Tucked into the pages of the journal I find a folded piece of paper with my name on it. I look up to see Edward at the piano, looking at me with an anxious expression. I smile at him and lift the paper. He nods, and I start reading.

_Dearest Bella,_

_Last week, upon entering the room for your lesson, Dr. George was having the most amazing memory, for such a cynical man. In his mind, a woman was singing in church, her face lit with joy and her voice a beautiful instrument of praise. I believe that woman was his mother. He loved her, but he thought she was foolish to waste her talent. She thought he was missing the point. His mind flashed to an argument they had over what she considered to be his vanity and what he considered to be her tragic lack of ambition. _

"_Show me the person who sings purely for the love of it, and I'll show you real glory, Emil," she said. She comes to his mind often when you sing, and I can see why. The expression on your face when you enter your column is remarkably similar to hers when she sang on Sunday mornings. You cast a gentle glow in those moments, and you make everything beautiful just by being in the same room. When I walked in, he was wishing that she could have lived to meet you. He was thinking of her at that moment, and telling her in his mind that she was right. His is not the only cynical mind you've touched, and changed._

_Bella, I gave you these books so that you can know me better, but please understand that what you are reading is history. The man who made this horrible choice, however well-intentioned, no longer exists. You, who are full of beautiful ideas, are about to read about the ugliest thoughts I've ever had. I want you to understand that anything within me that could ever come to such a disastrous decision has been destroyed not only by long decades of loneliness and regret, but in your warmth. What has destroyed that part of me is the fire that follows in the wake of your gaze, your touch, your kiss. Wherever your love touches me, there is no room for such darkness._

_This is how you know me. You know me because everything in me feels new and illuminated for the first time in my long existence. You are a pure, glowing light to anyone capable of recognizing it. Everything true in you destroys everything in me that was arrogant, lonely, and lost. There's plenty left of me to criticize, I'm afraid, but anything that remains belongs to you._

_Love,_

_Edward_

_p.s. I heard a song that reminded me of you and added it to your iPod while you slept._

Edward is paying attention to whatever Dr. Adana's saying to him at that moment, so I dive in my book bag for my iPod. I find the song immediately under the "Recently Added" heading. I close my eyes listen to the sounds of drums like anticipation and a beating heart, a church organ, and a man confessing about the girl who has rendered him joyfully helpless and in love. Instruments and voices join in increasing harmonic ecstasy until the last bit, where — wait, what? _Really?_

I look up, slack-jawed and shocked at Edward while he grins at me, his eyes full of wicked promise. I shake my head and bite my lip, unable to keep from smiling.

"You are such a tease," I whisper so quietly I can't even hear it.

Soon it's my turn for rehearsal, and I can't stop thinking about the letter and what Edward might've meant with that song. Like an idiot, right in the middle of the scene I trip over a puppet and fall, hard, on one knee.

The music stops immediately, and I look up to see Edward's face hard in a mask of fear and anguish. I can tell he's holding his breath, and it seems like a dark cloud settles over him as he watches Leo offer a hand to help me up. For a moment I feel nothing except the temporary static of deferred pain. The sound of stifled laughter from across the room barely registers as I run a hand over the point of impact. _Dry_.

"Thanks, I'm okay," I say, a bit too brightly, ignoring his hand as I dust myself off. "I'm not bleeding, and nothing is broken. Only my pride is hurt."

_Fucking hell, _I curse silently as my knee begins to throb, reminding me of what it's like to be Clumsy Bella once again. The dust of humiliation and dread lies thick in my throat.

"That's one," Dr. Adana warns, giving me a cold look.

I've been in the class long enough to know what this means. Every student gets three chances to mess up, whether it's not having music memorized at an appropriate time, or being late to rehearsal, or goofing off. After the third time, you may as well not take his class, because you're over as far as he's concerned. It occurs to me that my fall wasn't just due to clumsiness or an accident that could happen to anyone. I truly wasn't paying attention, and it's completely my fault. If this had happened on stage… Still, I'm only a freshman. If I've used one of the three after only a few weeks of his class, I'm in serious trouble.

It's then I notice the trio of camera phones pointed in my direction and the creepy clown grins plastered on vicious faces. I don't have to guess at what's going on the blog tonight.

_Great._

~oЖo~

We get back to Edward's apartment pretty late, and I take a quick shower. I see a little bruise forming on my knee as the razor passes over it. After my shower, I come out to find Edward sitting on the edge of the bed, his head propped on his hands and a brooding scowl on his face. I close my eyes and wish I were religious so I could pray for patience.

"Nothing really happened," I tell him softly, "other than me being a klutz. Are you really going to let this ruin our night?"

He glares at me for a moment, then sighs and pats the bed next to him. I come close but don't sit down, opting instead to stand where I can see his face easily.

"You're so fragile, so breakable," he says in an anguished whisper. "Anything could happen to you at any moment — a car accident, a fall down a flight of steps, anything. Every memory I have of spontaneous human loss — and believe me, there are plenty of them — they're driving me crazy right now. I can picture the same things happening to you. Sure I'm usually there to do something about it, but not always. Today's incident just reminded me that if there's blood involved, I'm the worst danger in the room. And then Leo, _Leo_ can offer you comfort while I dare not inhale for fear of losing control and killing you."

I cradle his head on my chest and lean my head on his. He's told me it soothes him to hear my heartbeat.

"I thought we were finished with this angsty stuff," I say, stroking his cheek. "I love you. You love me. We can figure out a way to handle this."

"You should be dating someone like him," he says, turning his face from me.

I can still see his reflection in the glass tabletop, and he's got that look on his face again. The look that makes me think of my mom's big emo music collection and how I'd hear her singing along with Morrissey for days every time she broke up with somebody. Apparently it's time to put the practice to good use.

"A bisexual?" I ask, being deliberately obtuse in hopes of distracting him.

The corners of his mouth turn up almost imperceptibly.

"You know I don't mean that," he grumbles.

"You mean I should date someone I don't love?" I ask, stroking his hair. It's smooth, silky even, but not really soft. I remember reading something about spider webs are one of the strongest natural fibers, comparable to metals. His hair is neither sticky nor so fine as spider silk, but it feels remarkably durable, and it occurs to me that it never seems to grow. It's such a strange, compelling texture; I could do this for hours.

"Maybe we can figure out a way to help you get accustomed to the smell of my blood, just in case," I suggest, and he stiffens, opening his eyes.

We stare at each other through the reflection, which makes him seem ghostly transparent. He turns his head to look at me, and the dim light from the bedroom casts an eerie shadow, leaving his face half in darkness, half in light. Something inside me tolls a warning that Edward is not one to brood in vain. The last time I know of him getting this upset, he killed over a hundred people. I have no idea what he'll do about his fears for my safety, but it can't possibly be anything good.

"Too dangerous," he says after a while. "Maybe when Carlisle gets here. I trust him."

"I trust _you_," I reply. "Meaning I trust that you won't kill me, but I also trust you when you say Carlisle can help you. I'll do my best to refrain from injuring myself for a couple of weeks until he gets here."

"That would be helpful," he mutters, and I laugh.

"Now I _know_ you're overreacting about Volterra," I tease. "Look at how freaked out you are over something that didn't even happen. In some ways you really are seventeen, aren't you?"

"True," he sighs deeply, "if I got used to your scent, I can probably handle your blood eventually."

He inhales in the way he does when he's savoring my scent, as if to remind himself of the first few times when he says he thought he might snap and kill me. Carlisle helped him then as well, by calling him every time our practice sessions were supposed to end. Knowing his father was going to call was, according to Edward, enough of a reminder to keep me alive. I can't wait to read those journal entries.

After a while his arms wind around me, and he starts stroking my back gently. He still looks sad, and his eyes are closed, but he's letting me comfort him. It takes me a while to realize we're both humming the lullaby he wrote for me. I don't know who started it, but I'm on melody, and he's got the sadder parts of the harmony below me in slow arpeggios.

"Everything was going so well until I had to trip and fall. First, I've got one strike from Professor Adana. Next, thanks to modern cell phones, mean girls, and my clumsiness, I'm absolutely certain my shame is on the Internet by now, probably in several places. And now my Edward won't even look at me. How much punishment do you think should I have to take for daydreaming?"

"Daydreaming? What were you daydreaming about?" he asks, opening his eyes.

"As if you don't know," I tease gently. "That _song_. So sweet and loving. Edward, don't think I've forgotten about the ending, with the naked and the sheets? I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen when we finally got home. Had I known it would be _this_ much fun I probably could have focused on the scene."

He snorts, his dreary mood finally broken, and a wave of relief washes over me.

"Oh I plan on it, and soon," he whispers low and silky. The hot, sweet promise travels through me in lazy spirals, igniting imagination as well as flesh. "Let's take it slowly, love. I need to go slowly."

"You set the pace," I promise, as he nuzzles my neck. "Can we listen to the song again? I haven't heard it enough."

He pulls away and in a moment has fished my iPod out of my book bag.

"I'm already ahead of you," he smiles slyly, pushing buttons on the stereo system and plugging in the iPod. "I have a whole playlist."

"Sneaky," I accuse, welcoming him back into my arms. "This song really makes you think of me?"

"You have no idea," he murmurs, pushing me back on to the bed. "You know, I thought we got rid of the whole T-shirts to bed thing."

His eyes take on the look I haven't seen since my voice lesson on Monday, and my heart starts to speed up. A gentle kiss tells me he's being playful, and I bite my lip in anticipation. He smiles dangerously, and a nervous thrill swirls in my stomach as his hands play with the collar of my oldest, most comfortable shirt. I hear a low, feral growl and feel a slight tug as my shirt becomes two scraps of cloth dangling from my arms.

"I guess you don't like this shirt," I laugh as I watch the cloth fall to the carpet, then glance up to find him eyeing me speculatively. "Naughty. I thought you wanted to go slowly?"

"It was in the way," he explains, and pulls his own shirt over his head, leaving him gloriously naked from the waist up. He looks at the intact garment and shrugs, tossing it next to the shredded one. "I may have hated that shirt a little."

Finally, he pulls me into his arms and I revel in the smooth, firm texture of cool flesh. I feel like a flame in a glass.

"So beautiful," he whispers, kissing my hot cheeks. "Are you okay?"

I nod and shiver, and within seconds he's got us under the downy covers, very nearly bringing my trip-inducing fantasy from rehearsal to life, save a pair of thin flannel pajama bottoms and my own silky underwear.

His eyes say want and need and caution and sorry, and I know the rest of the clothing stays on for now. I stroke his cheek with the back of my hand, telling him with all that is gentle and soft in me that I know, and it's okay.

I reach for him with hands, mouth, and deep, sparkling joy. He rolls us gently in the safe cage of his arms, his lips warming to mine. I can almost taste the last of his sorrow as it escapes through the space he creates to keep from crushing me. I've never felt so cherished, so protected in my life, even in my father's house. The joy swells, swirling in my mind, belly and chest until it hurts, cracking the shell of isolation I didn't know was there to begin with. The loneliness dissolves and leaks in a salty rivulet from eyelash to cool, sweet tongue.

Edward swallows my sadness and kisses my eyelids with lips gentle as snowflakes.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he pleads.

"It's nothing bad," I assure him, laughing and sniffling. "It's just so overwhelming — I'm so in love with you I can't seem to contain it all."

He consumes every tear with feathery kisses as I fall apart, shaking and trembling and trying to stifle my tears. He's murmuring something over and over, but I can't make sense of it until I start to calm down, and when I do finally understand what he's saying it steals the breath from my lungs.

"I need forever, Bella. Be mine forever."


	17. If Mohammed Won't Come To The Mountain

**Ch. 17 If Mohammed Will Not Come to the Mountain…**

**A/N: Thanks to NelsonSmandela, Scarlett Letters for blissful fictionating, ThePopsiclesKhimaira for setting up a playlist over on the youtubes, and of course Algie and Feisty for the always quality musicfucking.**

**One chapter hasn't seen this much action since chapters 5 and 9, so … buckle up. **

**Disclaimer: Kevin Kline, Lemon Time, Turpentine: Twilight? Not Mine.**

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**Chapter Music (via youtube):**

**J. Haydn: **_**Baryton Trio No. 97, 2**__**.**__** Satz Allegro**_

**performed By the Esterhazy Ensemble on original instruments:**

**/watch?v=lzBEdG_ZJHc**

**(and just to give you an idea of what a fortepiano sounds like), **

**Beethoven: **_**Moonlight Sonata**_** on fortepiano**

**Performed by Trevor Stephenson**

**/watch?v=iUDUmWaus3Q**

**from previous chapters:**

**Debussy: **_**Arabesque No. 1**_**, **

**Schubert: **_**Standchen **_**and **_**Gretchen am Spinnrade**_**, **

**Menotti: **_**The Medium**_

**All can be found on the Canzone Playlist thanks to ThePopsiclesKhimaira:**

**/view_play_list?p=F30A3F8333D6DE69**

~oЖo~

"Would you mind singing in period costume for Jasper's lecture, Bella?" Alice asks with all the sweetness of her the triple caramel mocha bomb explosion, or whatever she calls her drink. "It isn't necessary, but might be a nice touch."

"I'll do it," I say vehemently, looking up from my music theory homework to find three shocked faces staring back at me. "What?"

Dress-up for me means dress-up for Edward. It's not exactly rocket science, people.

"I was planning on taking all afternoon to beg," Alice grins. "I'll call Magda in the costume shop and see if she can see us any earlier."

"She already has my measurements from the opera," I point out, finishing off my ginger tea. "It doesn't have to be a major production … uh, sorry?"

Jasper covers Alice's ears before I finish uttering the words. Her eyes narrow, and I can almost see steam coming from between Jasper's hands.

"You've done it now," Edward whispers as he snatches my empty cup to take it all of four feet to the café bus tub.

"What'd I do?" I ask, bewildered. I've gotten so nervous it's making everything come out wrong. "Yes, fine, we can go see Magda. Whatever you want, Alice. I'll even go to the nasty mall to pick up your candles and overpriced bath crap, just please, try to relax? I need to go by that dance store and get some character shoes for dress rehearsal tomorrow."

"Can we go now?" she asks. "That way, we keep the appointment with Magda at four, and that makes tonight blissfully free."

"But Alice, I am also free tonight," Jasper says with mock confusion, pulling her onto his lap. "Whatever will we do with ourselves if we're both free the same evening?"

"Game night with Edward and Bella, duh," Alice giggles as he starts to tickle her mercilessly.

"No offense, Bella, Edward," Jasper informs us sternly over his wife's uncontrollable laughter. "But if either one of you come anywhere near our apartment tonight, I will never forgive you, and there may be violence. I don't care what she says; do not come close."

"Uncle!" she gasps. "I give in, stop!"

Jasper grasps her hands and wraps his arms around her so that her arms cross in front of her body, effectively locking her in his embrace.

"Do we have a date tonight?" he demands playfully.

"Yes, Jasper," she agrees demurely, obviously pleased with herself.

"What time?" he insists. "I don't want you wandering around aimlessly in the mall, trying on shoes while your flowers wilt, if you know what I mean."

Suddenly I feel the need to triple-check my theory homework, and Edward decides it's necessary to clean the table quite thoroughly.

"Oh quit, you're embarrassing the children," Alice chides, elbowing Jasper. "But I'll be home by six at the latest. I'll be expecting _real_ flowers, too, since you _bring it up_. You've never given me wilted _anything_ in the past, Mr. Whitlock, and tonight better not be an exception. Come on Bella, let's go before you turn completely purple and Edward starts polishing the espresso machine."

I give Edward a swift kiss on the cheek and turn to follow Alice, but he grabs my hand and pulls me onto his lap before I get very far.

"Not good enough," he insists. "You're going to be gone for hours."

"That's flattering," I say, and thread my fingers through his silky hair.

Never one to back down from a challenge, I close my eyes and move in, kissing him with far more passion than we've ever displayed in public. At first he stiffens in surprise, so I lick his bottom lip and he's then kissing me back like I'm going away for several months instead of just an afternoon. We're interrupted by a low wolf whistle from one direction and the tap, tap, tapping of impatient little feet from the direction of the door.

"I think they've gotten over their embarrassment," Jasper observes when I break the kiss and Edward literally growls in frustration_._ "Bella, you're either going to break Alice's heart or Edward's here. Either way you've gotten mean, lil' sis."

"Sorry," I say. Spring Break, please come faster. I need you.

"I'll give her back, Edward." Alice says, pulling my hand.

"I don't believe you," he grumbles, burying his face in my hair as I try to wriggle off his lap unsuccessfully. I do have some success in feeling exactly how much he wants me to stay, however.

"I'll take her to get something you'll li-ike," Alice sings and finds no further resistance as she pulls me upright. In fact, Edward has his wallet out and presses what looks like an awful lot of cash for a college student to be carrying around into her hands. "What's this for?"

"It's for making that little vision of yours come true," he says with a grin. "Whatever it is, I trust you. You know if I give her the money she'll just sneak it back into my wallet later."

"Oooh, I know where she's going. I love that store," I hear Jasper laugh as we leave. "Especially the catalogs."

Alice flips him off through the window as we walk to her car. He waves and makes little kissy faces at her. Her smile fades a bit as she adjusts the mirror and the seat.

"So you guys look pretty cozy," she says casually. "What kind of birth control are you using?"

My jaw drops, and I'm a little shocked. To be honest, though it's a perfectly legitimate question in light of what she just witnessed. Legitimate for a genuine buttinski like Alice, that is. I realize with some surprise that I haven't even thought of it once. It's taken Edward so long to get to second base, I haven't even thought about the practicalities of it, as much as I've been fantasizing about him sliding home.

"We haven't really gotten to that part yet," I mumble.

"Sweetie, I think you need to prepare yourself," she advises. "I take it you're not on the pill yet?"

"Should I be?" I ask, worrying my lower lip.

"Since you guys are serious and, I'm assuming, relatively inexperienced—" She pauses until I give a small "mhmm" of assent. "Honey, do you even have a doctor for that?"

"Not yet," I whisper, shaking my head.

It kind of figures that Renee's idea of a safe sex talk would involve bondage rather than birth control, but I'm mortified to realize I've been more than willing to do something like have sex without even thinking about the possible consequences. Maybe it has to do with Edward being a vampire, and what he said about Esme and Rosalie. I assume vampire sterility applies to the male as well.

"I'm pretty sure Edward can't have kids," I say softly.

"Did he tell you that?" she asks critically.

"Not in so many words," I admit.

"Okay, number one, this sounds insanely stupid, but lots of guys have this wishful thinking that they're sterile when they've no actual proof of it," she sighs. Alice is in full-on lecture mode. "Do _not_ play games with your future like that. Second, I know it's none of my business, but since you bring it up, does Edward have some kind of condition?"

I let out a noisy breath, inwardly kicking myself for indicating that Edward was even more abnormal than she could guess. While Jasper seems to be either oblivious or too polite to notice Edward's idiosyncrasies, Alice's curiosity may prove to be problematic. I would hate it if Edward were forced to eat in front of her, but it might be necessary.

"I don't feel comfortable talking about it," I say honestly.

"But you _do_ know, right?" she asks.

"Yes, we've discussed it," I admit. "Edward didn't think I should be interested in him because of … his _condition _… but it's not his fault, and he's managing it admirably. More than that, it doesn't change how I feel about him."

"Huh," she says quietly. I can almost see her scrolling through the possibilities in her mind's eye. "Is it Lupus?"

"You watch way too much _House_," I say, shaking my head. "No, and that's the last question I'm answering about it. I told you, I'm not comfortable discussing it, and I've already said too much as it is."

"Okay, fine," she concedes. "But will you let me make an appointment with my OB/GYN for you? You'll have to wait at least a few weeks to get in, but she's worth it. I'll even go with you your first time."

"You will?" I ask, feeling the anxiety ebb when she makes the offer. "I'd really like that, if you don't mind."

"Of course," she says with a comforting smile. "I always wanted a little sister to boss around and take care of, you know."

"I love you, too. Hey, would you mind bossing me around on Friday night before the opera?" I ask impulsively. "I've been having this recurring nightmare about everything going wrong, like my costume won't fit, and I get lost, and I'm covered in bees."

"Bees?" she laughs. "That's a new one. Sure, I'll help you. Jasper's last lecture is on that night, but it's pretty a straightforward process, more academic than for the general public."

"I don't want you missing one of his lectures!" I protest, frowning.

"Girl, please," she waves her hand dismissively. "I've been so far up his ass about this lecture series that he'll be delighted to have a break from me. Plus, I already planned on going. If you hadn't asked I was going to offer. I don't trust those girls not to switch your eyelash glue with hot pepper sauce."

"Who would do that?" I gasp, cringing at the thought. "Wait, you think I need fake eyelashes?"

"A babe in the woods," she sighs, shaking her head. "That's what you are. What would you do without me?"

~oЖo~

Wednesday evening I barely have time after rehearsal to get into the costume for Jasper's lecture. Hanging my costume in the bathroom,I take a quick shower while wearing the hot rollers Alice has insisted will help her fashion an authentic up-do for me once we get to the museum. The steam from the shower takes out the few wrinkles that refuse to iron out, but the curlers don't do as well in the same humidity, leaving my hair in more of a wavy cloud than neat curls. I hope Alice can work with that as well.

The costume proves to be the biggest challenge. If I were going completely authentic with this costume, I'd have a linen chemise underneath the corset, but it makes the neckline of the top part of the dress lay uneven, so I just go without. I had been planning on having a little fun in getting Edward to help me take it off, but it seems I need his help putting it on as well. The skirt just won't button all the way unless I tighten the corset just a bit more, and the laces are in back where my arms can't easily reach them. As much as I angle to get a good view in Edward's bathroom mirror and try to pull the thin, rope-like laces, I just can't get enough leverage to pull any tighter.

It's impossible to imagine being a completely independent woman without a maid or sister or just someone to help handle the stays, complicated hairstyles, and what seems like millions of tiny buttons. They seem like insignificant details, but it says so much about the time period that a woman would not be able to dress herself without assistance. For a woman of the era, it was a daily reminder of her place in society. For me, this contraption of exaggerated femininity is just a pain in the ass.

"Edward," I call softly, and in an instant he appears behind me in the mirror's reflection.

He's mostly dressed, missing only his coat. His white tie dangles around his neck in a tantalizing promise of hotness to come. One hand runs through his unruly hair, and I see the glint of his enameled cuff links. _Hello, handsome._

"Would you help me with the laces? I've gone as far as I can go on my own, and it needs to be a little bit tighter for the skirt to fit…"

My voice trails off a bit as I see his expression shift from mild curiosity to unguarded lust as his eyes take in my reflection, lingering briefly over my shoulders and collarbones and shift downward.

_Huh. Antiquated, sexist foundation-wear, you may have some use after all. _

I look in the mirror and try to see what he's seeing, and I have to admit there's something unusually erotic about the combined effect of my flushed, pale skin and the Edwardian undergarment. I seem to be on the verge of completely spilling out of the damn thing, and it somehow makes my relatively average cleavage seem a lot more generous than it really is. The lace at the top edge of the corset barely conceals my nipples, and if you look very closely you can see a bit of pale peach areola through the lace pattern.

Edward looks _very _closely.

"I ah, just need another inch or so," I manage to say in a wavering voice. "Can you give it just a little tug?"

"Don't we have to leave soon?" he asks, ignoring the laces I'm holding out to him awkwardly behind my back. "Although, since you mention it … another inch would certainly do the trick."

I'm pretty sure he's not talking about getting my skirt buttoned.

His hands slide up my bare arms and along my shoulders to gently caress the skin over my collarbones and skim along the exaggerated slope of my breasts. My breath hitches as those magical fingertips dip under the lace to gently tease my nipples. His delicate, direct touch sends a wave of desire straight through me, like there's some kind of livewire directly connecting it all that is pink and tingly. The back of my head hits his shoulder, and a little moan escapes as I'm struggling to gather my thoughts for some reason.

"Look at me, Bella," he demands, and it better be good because his fingers are utterly _pornographic_, and I just want to watch him touching me as long as possible.

I drag my eyes from the wonder of his hands on me to find his eyes watching mine with such intensity it seems improbable that the mirror isn't damaged from the ricochet. My eyelids feel heavy, and I try to remember why I'm in a costume, besides the promising, yet accidental, situation going on at the moment.

_Jesus, Edward, we have to leave in about fifteen minutes and you choose _now_ to crack?_ I turn my head to try to remind him but find myself getting more than a little lost in his lusting eyes and sweet breath. I should really say something now.

The charged air between us slowly disappears, and Edward's beautiful mouth is the only thing I know as his lips move on mine in place of forming words,and his breath becomes mine as well. The slippery shock of his tongue inside my mouth barely keeps me from letting the dizzy take me down. I pull away and take a deep, neutral breath.

"Ah, timing, Edward?" I ask, trying to remember what I was going to ask him.

I'm pretty sure it was important. Something about bad timing and … I gasp as his lips brush my shoulders and start to travel up my neck, to that spot. That wonderful, magical spot that makes me forget my name and makes me feel like my skin is made up of a thousand trembling butterflies that might take off at any moment. He leans closer into me, and I feel his erection through his trousers and against my skirt, the slope of my back, my hands holding laces. He groans and fully presses himself into my hands, and I explore the situation through the magical texture of his concert dress pants. _Concert_. _Right._

"Concert," I mumble, starting to remember. "We have to go to the museum. I swear there was some reason I called you in here, but I can't remember."

"Could it have anything to do with these?" he asks, his hands slipping from underneath my corset — _sorry, nipples_ — behind my back to cover my exploring hands, still holding the laces.

I reluctantly let go — _sorry, hands — _and he gingerly takes the ties.

"Just an inch?" he breathes into my ear, and I nod, agreeing to anything he might possibly mean by that.

Slowly, he tugs the ties, and I see the slight transformation in the mirror, my waist narrowing slightly as the tops of my breasts push up and out by another improbable degree. Edward's eyes widen by about the same margin, and I wonder why women ever stopped wearing these things. Well, at least in bed.

"Can you breathe?" he asks, frowning a little, but still ogling.

I take an experimental breath and let it out using my favorite singer's breathing exercises. I take another and sing a random high note, holding it for as long as I can.

"Surprisingly well," I say, reminding myself to thank Magda the next time I see her. Profusely.

He slides the pale lilac bodice of my dress over my arms, and quickly fastens the many buttons in back. While he's doing that I look in the accessory bag that came with the costume, and fish out some rather gaudy rhinestone jewelry. Edward's hands still mine as I fumble with the necklace clasp.

"I've got something much better," he whispers. "Will you try it on?"

I nod, thinking his tone a little heavy for the occasion.

He confirms my suspicions as he takes me to an intricately carved wooden box on one of his bookshelves. It's eerie to see the box that Carlisle took from Edward's mother's room as he helped him claim his rightful inheritance. He opens the box with an old but burnished key, and I see relatively impressive collection of jewelry for the size of the box. He sets it on the floor in front of the piano and kneels in front of it, patting the bench for me to sit down. I don't want to ruin the dress, so I take a seat.

"I hope you don't mind," he says softly. "I gave Esme some earrings. She's been like a mother to me, and I wanted her to have them. The rest belongs to you."

"Me?" I ask, bewildered. "It's too much, Edward." I shake my head a little, until I catch the question in his eyes.

"You don't want forever?" he challenges, staring up at me intently.

"I want _you_ forever," I clarify. "I've never cared about this stuff."

"Well," he reasons, kissing me gently, "You need jewelry to go with this gown. It's not the last time you're going to need it, either, given your chosen profession. I happen to come with jewels, and you have _me_. Therefore you have jewelry. It's not like I can wear any of it."

At this he balances an elaborately jeweled comb in his wild hair, and I laugh.

"There," he says, gently securing it behind my ear with a gentle sweep of his hand. He caresses my hair and gives me a dreamy, satisfied look. "Much better on you."

"All right then," I reply. "But it feels a little strange to wear something so precious. What if I lose it?"

"It's yours to lose," he shrugs, decorating my ears with amethysts. "You're the most precious thing in the room."

I roll my eyes, and he laughs softly, clearly amused at my embarrassment.

"Have you finished?" I ask, wondering if he's going to make me wear every item in the box at once as he picks up a little velvet box.

"Almost," he says lightly. "Just one more thing."

Now I realize that _sneak_ has maneuvered us so that he's on one knee in front of me, looking all devastatingly handsome and cufflinked perfection. This is a clear exploitation of my weakness, but I still suck in my breath in clear apprehension as he produces the antique ring and takes my hand. I can't keep the fear from reaching my eyes, and he notices, but doesn't waver.

"Back in those times, I'd be talking to your father first," he says with an apprehensive smile. "But I'm probably in enough trouble as it is. I know young men these days are supposed to take forever to even think of doing this, but I'd by lying if I said it hasn't been on my mind."

He looks so vulnerable and hopeful that it's stunning, how much power I have over this amazing creature in this moment. I feel like I could break him with the smallest word.

"This is important to you, isn't it?" I ask, searching his eyes.

"Yes," he admits, searching just as carefully. "But I don't want you to say yes just because it's important to me. If you really have doubts—" he cuts off with an anguished look down at the ring.

"I don't have any doubts about you," I say, caressing his face until he looks at me again. "I have no doubts about _us._ The only fear I have is the same fear you'd get from anyone with divorced parents, I think. The word 'marriage' scares the hell out of me, it's true. But that has more to do with Charlie and Renee and being as young as they were when they got married. The idea of being with you forever doesn't remotely frighten me, not at all. To be fair, you haven't actually asked me a question."

"True," he says, thinking it over for a moment. "Can you say yes to forever then? Truly mine, and I yours?"

"I already told you that when I said I love you, it wouldn't change, not ever," I remind him with a genuine smile, devoid of any fear. "And I do love you. But you can consider this an official 'yes' if you like."

In one movement he slips the ring onto my finger and has me twirling in the air. When he kisses me it's full of innocence and rapture, and this time I feel no dizziness in spite of the world turning around us. All I see is Edward.

"Come on," I laugh, feeling the full force of his radiant joy. "Alice is going to kill us if we're not there in ten minutes."

"It's all her fault, asking you to wear this amazing costume," he grins, setting me down lightly.

"How so?" I ask curiously.

"I wasn't planning on doing this for weeks," he admits, tracing the skin beneath the wide, square collar of my gown. There's a subtle difference in his touch, though it's just as gentle as before. "But I just couldn't wait any longer."

~oЖo~

We make it to the museum in record time, barely cruising in the front door one minute past the time Alice asked us to arrive. The museum, which was originally built as a mansion during the late 1800s, has been illuminated this evening using only the original gaslights and the cleverly recessed lighting, which bring out the details in each work of art. Due to a subtle gap between the ceiling and the wall, the lighting doesn't seem to even have a source. It's almost as if each picture were just glowing of its own accord, like a little moon or star. Students in concert dress are setting up mahogany folding chairs, and a few candles glow on the lecture podium.

"Wow," I breathe, overwhelmed by the change in atmosphere. "I feel like I've just traveled through time."

"It's remarkable. Everything is exactly how I remember it, maybe even older," Edward agrees, straightening his white bowtie. "Even the chairs for the audience seem authentic."

"They are; everything is!" Alice confirms smugly as she appears from around a corner, looking like an extra in a Merchant Ivory film. "That's why we chose this place for this particular lecture. We wanted to do everything possible to create the illusion of a very different kind of musical experience. I wish I could make the recording equipment completely invisible, but the curtain will have to do. At least the camera is almost completely silent."

"Edward, can you tune pianos, by any chance?" she asks. "I swear that E4 on the harpsichord is flat by at least twenty cents."

"Sure, but my kit is in the car." Edward looks a little surprised when she produces a leather pouch and opens it to reveal an array of mostly long, skinny tools. "Or I can use yours."

"Weird," I say, peeking at the kit. "I didn't know you could do that."

"With as many keys as I've broken, I better know all that and more," he mutters under his breath — though not quietly enough, apparently, as I see Alice's eyebrows shoot up.

Edward's face looks almost too placid, but I'm sure he's aware of Alice's curiosity by now, even though we never talk about it. He's mentioned more than once that she's well-named, and that reading her mind can be very much like going down the rabbit hole.

"It pays to be prepared," Alice says, giving me a significant look as she leads me towards the women's restroom.

"Subtle," I say. "Speaking of which, thanks for the little present you left in my purse on Sunday. Ribbed, for my pleasure?"

"You know what's not subtle, Bella?" she snorts. "Babies. Babies are probably the least subtle things on the planet. Although I hear abortions are also not very subtle. Nor is having to choose between having one or the other. Adoption would be the most subtle, but you'd still have the unsubtle moment when an eight pound giant-"

"I get it, I got it. Message received." I interrupt as she works the front half of my hair into a ponytail, does some crazy magic to it, and starts working bobby pins in to form the beginning of the same kind of Gibson-girl type bun she's also wearing. It's very flattering to her delicate features. "Did you learn how to do this hairstyle just for this lecture?"

"Are you kidding?" she snorts, brushing the back of my hair with a paddle. "No, I learned this right after seeing the movie _Somewhere in Time. _This lecture just gave me an excuse to wear it. There, now for this gorgeous comb, and voila."

She holds my hand for a moment, staring at the ring, then at my earrings, and finally back at the ring.

"Did y'all knock off a bank on your way over here?" she asks, "Or is Edward just not into flaunting his wealth?"

"They belonged to Edward's mother," I say, still thinking about Elizabeth, who would have been right at home in this room. "His birth mother, I mean. Before she died."

"Edward's mother died young?" she asks, her eyes filling with compassion. "Was it the same thing Edward has?"

"I told you, I'm not going to talk about it," I say, beginning to understand how so many people find their siblings annoying.

"Sorry," she says, and I almost believe her. "Boy, Bella. You've got the weirdest luck. All these big things happening for you so fast, but at such a price, huh?"

"You're very perceptive," I sigh. Alice is a bright and curious woman. I'm starting to worry about how to handle her.

"Well, if you ever change your mind and want to talk about it, I'm here."

"Thanks, Alice," I say, and mean it. Impulsively I hug her. "Can I help with any of the setup?"

"Want to hand out programs?"

"You got it," I say, as we head out into the museum.

The lecture turns out to be more of a fascinating concert, with Jasper giving each early instrument more of a biography than a dry history. I start to realize how lucky I am to have found someone like him for tutoring. He has this knack for explaining things in a way that makes everything sound interesting and relevant, and then he turns around and connects ideas in ways you'd never think to connect them. Every era gets a short performance by fellow students in costume playing period instruments. Between the building, my clothing, and the music, it's incredibly easy to imagine myself in another place and time.

At one point, during one of the talking parts of the lecture, someone's cell phone goes off, and everyone in the first few rows jumps a little. Jasper takes it all in stride, teasing the man as he silences his phone with an ad lib about modern technologies and the pace of life. I can imagine other people getting flustered and angry, or just ignoring the interruption, but Jasper just folds it into his lecture and makes the guy seem like a serendipitous example illustrating his point.

When it's time for our set, which is the last of the evening and the pivotal example of the change to the modern instruments, I'm quite glad to have chosen to sing two pieces I've had memorized for months instead of the new Duparc. Between feeling anxious over the opera, the anticipation of seeing Edward's vampire family — possibly this weekend — and all the excitement of planning to live in Italy next semester, I don't think I could take any more pressure. While the Duparc had been memorized by my lesson, it wasn't quite settled in my voice yet, and I want to really take some time with it. Instead we're performing two Schubert pieces from last semester back to back.

First, Edward sits at the fortepiano behind me and, at my cue, begins the restrained passion of _Standchen_. I'm already in my column, feeling the structure of the song almost architecturally, as if it's a staircase I'm climbing — careful, restrained, but sure-footed. This is the first audience I've encountered not made up entirely of other musicians since the beginning of the school year, and I notice the change in energy right away. There are, of course, quite a few musicians here, including Dr. George and the rest of the performers, but this lecture has been promoted mostly to an outside audience.

The audience is big for the venue but not huge, around three hundred people or so. When I perform for other musicians I feel the audience energy as critical, neither positive nor negative, but something from which I have to shield myself in order to concentrate. With non-musicians, it's a completely different story. These people pay attention not so much with a critical ear as with the desire to be entertained and impressed. In spite of the usual amount of stage fright, once I get started, I've always felt a rush from the energy projected from an audience like this. Now that I'm firmly in my column, that energy has only intensified, and I feel the column expand to include not only Edward and me, but the entire room as well.

I feel flushed and pleased from the intensity of the applause after the first song, and I refocus for _Gretchen am Spinnrade_ while Edward changes to the modern piano. Now I can see him while I sing, which is always preferable, if a little distracting at times. When I sing the highest and loudest point of the song, "Ach, sein Kuss," meaning "oh, his kiss," I feel so much of this energy that it seems to be too much, and I exchange a look with Edward charged with all the heat and passion of our earlier kiss, multiplied by the number of people in the room. I sense, rather than hear — since I cannot hear anything but my own loud voice at this time — a collective gasp from the audience.

I once read that Janis Joplin compared performing to making love to every single person in the audience, and it's only now I understand what she meant. I feel like I'm on a wild, bucking bronco, but the reins are firmly in my hands. It's scary and incredibly sexy. The audience's energy doubles back on me like a tidal wave of longing, and I'm paradoxically wistful and relieved when the song comes to an end. The audience erupts in a standing ovation, the first and only of the evening, and I'm completely embarrassed until Jasper, seeing my face, smoothly leads the rest of the performers to share in the applause. Edward's hand slips into mine, and I close my eyes blissfully at the feel of his cool lips on my flaming cheeks.

"You're just full of surprises, lil' sis," Jasper whispers as he hugs me afterwards. "Did you feel the excitement in the room? I did not expect that kind of stage presence coming from you two."

"Neither did I," I admit, turning to Dr. George as he opens his arms to embrace both Edward and me at the same time.

"Box office gold, my shy ones," he whispers dramatically. "Just wait till your voice really blooms. Box office gold. Don't ever break up."

~oЖo~

"Does it bother you when Dr. George talks about us like that?" I ask later in Edward's apartment, as I start taking bobby pins from my hair. Candlelight and Debussy fill the spaces between us, both of us unwilling to let the past slip away just yet.

"Let me do that," Edward murmurs, taking the comb from my hair and replacing it in the wooden box. "I've been looking forward to this all night."

"He's just so … I don't know," I say, shaking my head.

"Honest," Edward replies. "Dr. George, for all the secrets he keeps, and all his ambitions, rarely ever lies."

"Do most people?" I ask, curious.

This is something he rarely mentions in his journals, at least as far as I've read. He can't write about it freely in case someone should find and read the journals, but a hint of it filters through.

"Do most people lie? I think so," he says, freeing my hair from the rest of the pins and fanning it out around my shoulders. "Mostly to themselves, and to people they think can harm them. People can be incredibly fragile in the way they think about themselves."

The song changes to the gentle cascades of Debussy's _Arabesque No. 1_.

"Do you remember?" he asks softly, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Of course I do. This was the song you played to lure me under the piano."

"I did no such thing!" he laughs, burying his face in my hair. "If anything, it was you. I just played whatever came to mind when you were around."

"I'm glad you lured me," I tease wistfully. "I had such a crush on you, but I was too intimidated to come any closer till you played that. Then I just couldn't help myself."

"I know the feeling," he murmurs, running his fingers down my back.

I feel the bodice of my gown slacken, and fingertips skimming the surface of the newly exposed skin like a chilly breeze. I shiver and moan as the breeze moves around to the front, the bodice now slipping down my arms. Vampire hands are quickhands, and by the time I catch the bodice before it falls to the ground, the skirt and petticoat of the dress tumble the floor in pale, billowing waves.

"This stays on," he says, kneeling in front of me and kissing my ring. "But everything else comes off. Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay," I whisper before bending down slightly to claim his mouth with my own. "I'm yours, Edward. Always and only yours."

"I love you, Bella," he says fervently, rising back up to shower my face, hands and neck with light, rapid kisses. "My own."

He wraps his arms around me in a gathering embrace, so tight it rivals the corset, and begins to languidly kiss the swell of my breasts where they threaten to spill out over the lacy ridge. My hands are in his hair, tugging him closer, and his arms release me and the undergarment simultaneously. His eyes look mesmerized as he takes in the sight of me in only tiny, silky, white underwear. He seems utterly entranced as he gently glides one long, elegant finger over the silk, stopping only at the uppermost edge, where he uses both hands to gently glide the silk down, down over my trembling knees, adding to the pool of cloth on the floor. His head darts in swiftly, and he kisses me _there,_ as my knees finally give out.

"Edward," I gasp, as he lifts me onto the bed. "You're still wearing—"

"My chastity suit?" he laughs. "Something tells me it's not going to work tonight."

_Oh, hell yes. _

"Let me, please," I ask, and begin working his tie loose.

My hands shake as I unbutton his shirt, but I've never wanted anything so much in my life as I want Edward right now. I feel his eyes burning into me and meet his gaze, then attack him with all the desire I felt during the performance, opening my mouth over his and letting my hands explore the chill expanse of back, shoulders, and tapering muscles. His arms tighten around me, and it takes me a while to realize that he's doing more restraining than embracing.

"Sorry," I say over his shoulder. "I just got carried away."

"_You_ can get carried away," he says regretfully, releasing me. "I'm the one who has to be careful."

"What do you need me to do?" I ask, truly at a loss.

I sit back on the bed, and realize I've been biting my lower lip when he reaches out to caress it ever so softly. He isn't breathing at all, so I just wait. He takes off his cufflinks and lays them glinting on the side table, giving me a sly smirk as he catches me staring at them. Off comes the shirt, and I stare at his back, glowing pale and silvery under the yellowish light of candles on the stand. By the time he turns around I've gotten under the covers, more than a little nervous, if I'm honest about it. I seem to react instinctively enough as long as he's touching and kissing me, but waiting for him to regain control over himself, I feel like I'm just lost. I burrow down under the covers, watching him take off his pants, wondering how far we're going to make it tonight.

I avert my eyes as he climbs into bed and feel both disappointed and relieved when I feel the soft cotton of his boxers against my leg.

"We don't have to do anything tonight," he says, lifting my chin. I stare into his eyes and see love, only love. It's like I've been wandering around aimlessly and just found the North Star, and I'm no longer lost at all. "I can wait as long as you want."

"Can we just make out for a while?" I ask. "And see what happens from there?"

My momentary shyness fades fairly quickly, in little sighs followed by moans and even the occasional feral sound from Edward. We read each other's bodies like new maps, with a lot of fumbling and turning, and the occasional nervous laugh.

_Sigh, moan._

He's definitely erring on the side of caution, almost too gentle in his touch, and I find myself pressing in to his hands more than once to indicate the desired amount of pressure. I place his hand where I need it, and tremble when the pad of his thumb generates waves of static pleasure. When the waves turn into a steady pulsing and surge of slick warmth, he slips first one finger inside me, then another, and I can feel myself clamp down around him in a pounding rhythm. My eyes roll back into my head and my body jerks against him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, taking his hand away as tiny _I love you_s fill the air, some silent, some a soft whisper.

_Moan, growl._

When I open my eyes he's watching me carefully, and trails his glistening fingers first down my neck, then with his knuckles gently brushes a large X from each shoulder to opposite nipples. He avoids any kind of contact between his teeth and my skin, though his long tongue darts out, tasting skin at the neck and shoulder, following the patterns he made. I tug on his head and he moves lower. We both moan when his tongue circles one nipple as he copies the action with an incredibly talented finger, somehow replicating the pressure precisely. I press into him, but he pulls back a little bit, warning flashing in his eyes.

_Whisper, laugh, sigh._

"Tempted?" I ask, feeling like Eve in the garden. My Adam, sly as a snake, traces the diagonal line from my left shoulder to right nipple, with his tongue.

"You've no idea," he says, honey-voiced and seductive.

"I want to try," I say shyly, and bury my face in his neck.

"You're sure?" he asks with genuine concern, but another part of him doesn't show any qualms at all as it presses against my entrance through the thin fabric of his boxers.

"I'm not sure that thing's going to fit," I admit. "But I'm ready."

"These are probably a good idea," he mumbles, taking a familiar-looking foil wrapper out of the bedside table. "Though I'm more worried about venom than anything else."

Away from his touch even for a moment I am a stranger, to him and myself. The sheets around me swaddle cocoon-like, and I find myself thinking about caterpillars and what they dream of when they're invisible and transforming. After some rustling he comes back and kisses my shyness away until we are Edward and Bella again. As he hovers, careful not to put any weight at all on me, he hesitates, and his face shadowed with anguish and despair.

"I can't hurt you." he confesses, sitting back after a moment. "Why does it have to be you who hurts?"

"Then I'll do it," I say, kissing the worry from between his eyes. "You just hold still."

We change places and I lower myself onto him, painfully, slowly. It seems impossible, given the amount of pain I'm in, but when I look down he's clearly not going in any further than an inch at the most. I take a deep breath and just let my body weight sink me further than I can force on my own. I bite down on Edward's hand to keep from crying out until my teeth start to throb. His eyes look wild for a minute, and for a moment he really looks like the demon he often claims to be.

"Are you in pain?" he asks, looking all kinds of tortured.

"I don't think the first time is good for any woman," I remind him as I wonder if it's possible that I'm doing this completely wrong and just making a new hole in my body for no reason at all."So I'm just kind of looking forward to the second time."

He takes a breath to say something when we both realize our mistake at the same time.

"Blood," I whisper over his deep growl.

His face changes subtly from human to wild beast, and for the first time ever, I'm truly afraid of him. His nostrils flare as his hands form tight fists. On pure impulse I grab a pillow and use all my strength to smother him with it. I mean, it's not like he _needs_ air. His hands grasp the edges and he rips it in half, sending feathers flying all over the bed. When they settle I am relieved to see Edward back in his skin, staring at me in shock, and spitting out tufts of down. He looks kind of ridiculous, and I start giggling in spite of the ebbing pain and fear.

"Better now?" I ask, clearing feathers from his messy hair.

"Goose … disgusting…" he says, spitting feathers. "I hate goose. Never thought I'd be grateful for such an awful smell," he admits, stroking me softly between the legs. "That was sufficiently, if unpleasantly distracting. What about you, better now?"

"Don't breathe," I warn, and start to gently rock on top of him.

The pain comes close to overwhelming, but there's a hint pleasure at the edge of it, and I try to focus on that. Piano turns into Spanish guitar, and I'm not sure how much more I can take. Edward suddenly rolls us over, cursing as he jerks inside me. It is then I feel the overwhelming need to be close to him, and wrap myself around him, whispering the contents of my heart.

"I've never felt so innocent," I confess. "It's like I know everybody's secrets now."

"I feel like I just got out of hell," he says with his remaining breath.

I bathe in Epsom salt and hot water while he changes the sheets. When I come out of the bathroom I smell the sting of bleach, a small price to pay. Edward opens a window and a fresh, sweet breeze cools my damp skin until I am almost as cold as Edward. We crawl under the sheets again, neatly tucked into each other.

Gentle darkness envelops us as the last candle flickers out, and with a final sigh we say goodbye to our solitary pasts. As he sings, I sleep, and we are one, naked and new.

~oЖo~

Friday rolls in like some unstoppable train, and I've never been happier to know Alice. She chatters and offers advice as I apply make-up. All the while I'm so nervous I want to puke.

"You can hide that big shiny ring with some matte bandages if you don't want to take it off," she says, for once not prying so much as giving me an opening to share. "Though turning it around would help as well, it's so long."

"Thanks, Alice. Hey, how's Jasper doing now that it's almost all over?" I ask, changing the subject. "Is he getting the kind of response he wanted?"

"So far so good, knock on wood," she says with a little smile. "There's some decent buzz, and two of the four articles will definitely be published. If that doesn't increase his chances for tenure track at a decent school in California or on the East Coast, I don't know what will. I've been looking at some of the lecture video, and some of it might even be marketable, perhaps as a TED talk or a distance learning thing, not sure yet. Would you and Edward be willing to sign release forms?"

"Of course," I say, immediately wanting to kick myself.

Can Edward really do that? Can I, since I'm planning on changing? If I'm going to be around for as long as Edward or Carlisle, even, shouldn't we be trying to avoid any kind of mass publicity? I should really find out how this all works before I do something irrevocably stupid.

"You're going to be great, Bella," Alice says for the tenth time, seeing my worried expression. "A little bit of nerves is a good sign. You know your music, you're not covered in bees, the costume fits fine—"

I jump as a loud knock on the dressing room door interrupts her. I start to get up to answer, but she pushes me back down in my seat.

"Can I help you, _ladies_?" she inquires acidly as she opens the door just enough for me to see two of my _favorite_ sopranos on the other side.

Bitchsplosion and her #3 minion (whose name escapes me) try to open the door a bit further but find it blocked surprisingly well by tiny Alice. The idea of them even breathing the same air as she does infuriates me, and I stand up. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but if there's going to be athrow-down catfight, I'm backing up my girl. Alice doesn't look like she needs any help, though. She looks even angrier than I am.

"Are Venka and Serena in here?" Christine asks, craning her neck to give me her signature bitchface. "We're here to give them flowers."

"Did you not bother to read the sign, or are you as illiterate in English as you are with music?" Alice asks, pointing at the sign on the door. "Here, let me read it for you: Annike _slash _Madame Flora and Bella _slash _Monica. That means Venka and Serena are in the other women's dressing room, genius."

"You don't have to be such a crunty asshole, Alice Brandon," Christine huffs. "Just because you've anointed Dumb-bella here into you and your husband's popular kids club doesn't mean you know shit about singing. She's over-fucking-rated."

"Oh really? That's funny," Alice says with a bitter laugh, "because while you were recording your jealous tirades on your pathetic little blog, three hundred and sixty-eight people gave her a standing ovation at the museum two nights ago."

"Ha, I knew she read my blog," Christine snarks.

"Actually I don't," I shrug. "Alice and Jasper do like to make fun of your grammar and spelling errors though. I guess I do sort of hear about it secondhand."

"You know what?" she says, turning magenta. "I'm going to make your life a living hell from now on. Mark my words, you won't be back next year when I'm through with you."

"You might as well not waste your time," Alice says sweetly. "Because Bella won't be here next year anyway. Haven't you heard? She got the Volterra fellowship! You know, the big one where _they_ pay _you_ to study with the best voice teachers in the world? Or in this case, where they pay _Bella_, not _you_."

Dead silence.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Christine finally says in a deep, murderous voice.

I hear an audible swish and the door's soft _click_ as Alice shuts it firmly.

"Ten, nine, eight…" Alice counts until we hear a door slam from the other end of the hallway and some muffled yelling.

"I'd be lying if I didn't say that was sweet as hell," I say, tucking my phone and wallet into the pocket of my shorts underneath the costume skirt. "There's no way I'm leaving anything valuable in here now."

"Yeah, I'm with you on that one, but it sure was worth it." Alice giggles. "I've never seen anyone so angry! She looks like a raspberry, all swollen and red with rage!"

I check my costume again, and Alice is right, it fits fine.

The mirror shows me as I am, right for the part of a young, naïve schoolgirl playing dress-up and just ready to fall in love. I can still make out the happy ghost of Grandma Swan, peering at me in the mirror through my own eyes. I wonder if I'll look like her when I get old for just a moment, until I remember that I'm not planning on getting old at all.

"Beats the alternative," I can hear her saying about getting older. I wonder if she would have taken my alternative. What would she have done in my place?

"_Places for _The Medium._ Places for _The Medium," the stage manager's voice pipes over the intercom, and my time has run out.

True to her word, Alice takes me right out to the stage curtain and ushers me on with a pat on the ass. My anxiety reaches a high pitch as I find my place, and for a brief instant I just want to apologize to everyone for the misunderstanding and run home. I look around in panic and see Alice in the wings, giving me the thumbs up.

Edward plays the short introduction, and I smile, feeling comforted by his palpable presence, and time starts to drag and flow in that weird way as I am pulled into his column. I sit in my place, and the curtain opens. The stage lights blind me momentarily, but I can still sense the presence of the audience. I can always see Edward in my peripheral vision, but dare not look at him. As I begin to sing I feel Bella slip away and the precarious darkness of Monica's story slip over me like a fog.

For all that I thought Leo was a good actor in rehearsals, he's something else entirely on stage. He's no longer Leo; he's Toby, his character. He's so convincing that it's much easier for me to play along than in rehearsals. Within moments of the curtain's opening I feel as though I'm in a dingy apartment, playing dress-up, feeling completely innocent and free. The bright stage lights make it easy for me to ignore the audience, or at least avoid looking at them. Even if I look out, I see nothing but bright, shining lights. My connection with Edward surprisingly helps me lose myself in the role instead of reminding me that I'm doing something as weird as singing instead of just talking. He and I are so connected that his tempo changes become mine, as if we were geese in formation or dolphins, and we never struggle against each other. I know I'm being spoiled by a production that generally uses piano instead of a small pit orchestra.

For all the time I've worried and prepared for this night, it's not as exciting as singing a couple of songs for Jasper's lecture had been just two nights ago. I can't really place it, but there's a difference in the way I perceive the audience. It's a completely different interaction, of course. There were no bright lights in the museum, and it was my job to look at them, whereas tonight that would just be bad acting. I also find it a little jarring to work with anyone besides Edward. Leo and Annike both have natural stage presence, and they don't interfere with getting into the column, as they have their own. Annike, playing the abusive Madame Flora, actually kind of scares me a few times. We've gone through the motions so many times in rehearsals that hitting my marks doesn't feel staged, it just feels like I'm stuck reliving this one intense memory of youth.

But any time I have to interact with the rest of the cast on stage I feel sort of disconnected, not really from my column, but from them. I hate to say it, but they don't even come close to really becoming their characters. Robbie is Robbie, Venka is an evil bitch, and I can no more think of them as Mr. and Mrs. Gobineau than I can imagine Charlie playing Julia Roberts' part in _Pretty Woman_. Any time they enter the stage it's slightly jarring, and I struggle to stay in character. Only during my arias do I ever approach that kind of focus and intensity.

When I sing _Monica's Waltz_, I am fourteen again, a child in a woman's body, playing at love. Leo looks so crushed-out and dejected I really try to comfort him. At this point we're so close to the piano I find myself practically underneath it. When I sing the final line of the song, _Toby, I want you to know that you have the most beautiful voice in the world, _I feel so much sisterly affection for him that I almost imagine Jacob's face instead of Leo's, and as the high note floats as sweetly and innocently as a child's balloon, I rest my head against his, feeling serene. A wave of enthusiastic applause catches me off-guard, but I am able hold my place until the next cue. Singing _The Black Swan _with Annike goes just as well, and I find myself thinking of Renee the whole time. When Toby gets shot, I feel sick, and don't have to fake the tears.

Applause thunders as I smile in relief. I barely remember to take a bow until the house lights rise and I'm stunned to see how many people are in the audience — nearly twice as many as Wednesday's performance. I see the faces of my father and Billy, front and center, grinning and clapping. I'm a little disappointed that Jake isn't with them, but I can hardly blame him after the last terse e-mail he sent about my father's visit. I am happy to hear that he's been seeing a girl. Maybe soon we can be friends again, I think sadly. I hazard a little wave at them and hear Billy's surprisingly loud whistle.

"Could you hear if your parents came?" I ask Edward as we exit the stage, and he shakes his head.

"I was focused on the conductor," he says. "With this many people it becomes necessary to tune almost everything out."

"You did great!" Alice hugs me tightly when we reach her. "I hate to be a spoil sport, but Edward, could you run me home while Bella receives her adoring fans? I'd like to check out the lecture tapes from tonight before going to sleep, and Jasper's probably still out celebrating. I'd call him but I can never get a signal in this building even if he could hear me."

"Sure, Alice," he says, and turns to kiss me on the forehead. "I'll be back before you know it."

I follow Annike out into the corridor where we're supposed to meet the audience members, and we find it already crowded. The vast majority of people seem to be pressing in towards me, but once close they maintain a respectful distance. Total strangers look at me eagerly, as if they've known me all their lives. It's really weird, but I can tell they mean well and are happy, so I try to relax and just say _thank you_ when they say nice things to me. Annike and Toby are much better at this than I am, conversing easily and laughing as if they know everyone.

As the line moves I see some familiar faces, and I sigh with genuine happiness.

"Thanks, Dad." I smile as he awkwardly offers me a small bouquet of daisies.

"So proud of you, Bells," he says gruffly, and holds my hands for a moment.

"Where's that young man of yours?" Billy asks curiously.

"He's taking a friend home, but he'll be back soon if you want to stick around," I say, hoping he won't want to wait that long. "Where's your young man?"

"Probably eating his new girlfriend's parents out of house and home," he replies. "She's crazy about him."

"Give him my best?" I ask, hugging him around the neck. He sniffs at me and coughs.

"Your perfume is a bit too sweet for me," he says bluntly. "Must be popular, we had to change seats because someone was wearing the same kind. I don't know how that can smell good to anyone."

I'm not wearing perfume, and for a second I think he might be sniffing my shampoo, but it's just the same cheap fruity-smelling stuff that I've always used. I could also smell like Edward, which would mean that some of his family might have come as a surprise.

"Well, we've got a long drive home," Charlie announces, his grin so wide even his mustache seems to be smiling. "It sure was good to see you sing tonight Bells. I couldn't be more proud."

When they disappear around the corner, I've noticed that the crowd has thinned considerably. This is when I see the unearthly beautiful couple standing at the back of the line. I smile, thinking of how easy it is now for me to tell humans from vampires. They're so exquisite, and the way they move! In comparison, all humans look awkward and jerky. Spending so much time with Edward, I recognize the preternatural quality of their stillness and the catlike grace of their movements as they approach. I don't know if it's the giddiness of a decent performance or the relief of it all being over, but it doesn't even remotely occur to me to be nervous about meeting them.

"Isabella … Bella." The beauty of his voice overwhelms me as his cool hand clasps mine. "I've seen your lovely face and heard your beautiful voice, but I must say, there's something truly special about you in the flesh."

He gives my hand a gentle little squeeze and holds it far longer than I expect. He stares intently into my eyes, and I start to get a little uncomfortable. I wonder if this is a European thing, and realize I'm going to have to get used to this in Volterra. He looks at me as though I've forgotten my lines. Oh god, he spoke to me and I've just been completely silent.

"Thank you," I say brilliantly. I try to mask my embarrassment with a smile.

"Forgive me, Isabella," he says, offering me a bouquet of red orchids and some smaller jagged purple flowers I don't recognize. I'm glad for the excuse to take my hand back, and my breath hitches as the cold from his touch flows through me like unwelcome waters. "I've just been so eager to make your acquaintance that I've forgotten my manners. My love for opera sometimes overwhelms my better judgment, and I'm finding you to be quite an exceptional case."

Somehow I keep the smile on my face, as every warning bell in my head tells me to lie, remain calm and do anything I can to get out of there.

"What beautiful flowers!" I exclaim, burying my face in them.

"Sadly, my young friend here does not appreciate opera as I do," he confides as if I'm an old friend. His accent sounds truly strange, not quite Italian, but very close to it. However accented, his English is precise, aristocratic. "Perhaps she will find you exceptional as well. Jane, come here and meet Isabella. Do you find her…exceptional?"

The female vampire on closer inspection seems younger, around the age of 13 or 14. Who knows how long she's been frozen that way. She approaches in a whisper of silk, eyeing me with giddy speculation.

"Here, in public, Aro?" she says with an air of pure delight. "Are you certain?"

**A/N: I'll just be hiding under my bed, working feverishly on the next chapter while you guys yell at me. While you're yelling, please remember the good times of this chapter, too. The Lemony Fluff and the Bitchsplosion smackdown. If you really hate me right now, just remember that I love you, and I'll only make you suffer for a few more chapters before we get to some lemony goodness again. **


	18. V

**Ch 18 V**

**A/N: Thanks to mah beautiful Beta NelsonSmandela, Algie & Feisty for the music euphemism, Scarlett Letters for the sanity check and the Fictionating, and Dramallamad*sign for making me an amazing banner (go check it oot on the Twilighted thread for Canzone under my profile) Seriously, check it out. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the following: Turtles, Tubas, Twilight, Turpentine.**

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**Chapter soundtrack (via youtube):**

**(a most unusual arrangement of) Rimsky Korsikov, **_**Flight of the Bumble Bee **_

**/watch?v=cdGwOmijRJ4**

**Fatboy Slim, **_**Right Here, Right Now**_

**/watch?v=DajTbUhRykU**

~oЖo~

"_Sadly, my young friend here does not appreciate opera as I do," he confides as if I'm an old friend. His accent sounds truly strange, vaguely aristocratic, not quite Italian, but very close to it. "Perhaps she will find you exceptional as well. Jane, come here and meet Isabella. Do you find her… exceptional?" _

_The female vampire on closer inspection seems younger, around the age of 13 or 14. Who knows how long she's been frozen that way… She approaches in a whisper of silk, eyeing me with giddy speculation. _

"_Here? In public, Aro?" she says with an air of pure delight. "Are you certain?"_

"Yes, yes, go ahead, if you can," he says, cocking his head appraisingly. "But I think you will be disappointed. We will find out for sure later, but a little test can't hurt."

She just stands there, grinning at me, like I'm the most fun thing she's ever seen in her life. It's really fucking creepy, and I think it would be even if she weren't a teen vampire. I remember seeing this old black and white movie called _The Bad Seed_,with this cute little blond girl who would be nice until something set her off and then she'd get all crazy-eyed and kill people and then go skipping away. Jane pretty much looks like the sequel, _The Bad Seed: Eternal Vampire Puberty._

Not knowing what else to do, but not wanting to piss them off I decide to just … smile back.

Bad move, apparently. She scowls at me. Scary, but not quite as creepy.

"Sorry, Jane, am I supposed to say something?" I ask. A handful of people linger in the corridor apart from these vampires and me.

"Don't worry about Jane right now," he says with an amused smile and points to his opera playbill, open to the small biographies of the cast. "Let's talk about this: the composer, Menotti. Perfectly nice Italian name, but this music? No, this is not Italian music. Italian music is above all things beautiful. Why does he insist on making such unpleasant noise?"

This is unbelievable.

I stare at the cream-colored pages of the cheaply made playbill listing tiny biographies and headshots of each cast member, plus Edward and Dr. Adana. As Aro reveals _precisely_ why he is not a fan of Menotti's music, I just keep staring at the pictures, trying to clear my head. I was so bored when that picture was taken, and now I'd do anything to be there again. And Edward … I know there's some sort of rule about staying out of the news, out of publicity. Surely he won't get into trouble for appearing in a small university production playbill?

_Where the hell are you, Edward? _

By now he and Alice should be arriving at her apartment, and he'll be turning back soon.

_Relax. Just relax. Aro seems to be chatty enough._

"And Isabella, you are nineteen years old, yes?" He asks, not really waiting for my assent. I think he knows exactly how old I am, given that he personally chooses all Volterra scholars, according to Edward. "You have a nice voice, wonderful stage presence."

"Thank you," I say, realizing in alarm that there aren't many people left in the lobby.

Annike has gone, and it's just Leo and his theater friends, goofing off. Just when I'm thinking of excusing myself, Aro confirms the one thing that's really bugged me about my performance.

"So this is, eh, not so bad at your age, but your high C at the end?" he says, shaking his head and wincing a bit. "Why did you not sing a lower note instead? Your high notes are so lovely, so full and pretty like a woman's should be. Your G is lovely, A is very nice, B is nice, full sound, but then you get to C and it's like a little boy singer has suddenly arrived, do you know this? It's like a little tiny bell for a child's bicycle."

He even holds an imaginary bell up to his ear and 'rings' it, pretending it's impossible to hear.

"I know exactly what you mean," I agree, caught off guard by his completely valid observation. "I wanted to take the lower note, but Dr. Adana said it was a reminder of how young Monica is, how pathetic her life is."

"And what did you think?" he asks, nodding and frowning. "What did you think of this stupid decision?"

"I thought it was a reminder of how pathetic my high C is," I admit.

In spite of myself, I'm starting to relax, at least mentally. Physically, I'm kind of shutting down. Everything seems to be in slow motion. My mind can't seem to decide between flight and …inertia, I suppose. I can't fight these creatures, and so far they haven't tried to intimidate me. Aro could just be here to talk opera. I am officially now his investment after all. Jane, however, seems to be thinking vile thoughts in my direction. She looks kind of constipated and angry.

"Give it time," he advises. "With a voice like yours, the little bell will become a big bell later. Changing you will make a difference of course, if that's the final decision, but I would perhaps like to wait to see what would happen. Maybe in a couple of years with the right instruction, the change would make it even better … ah, but do you really have a couple of years, that is the question?"

"What?" I ask, barely processing his meaning.

_Don't say it out loud. The Volturi are all about technicalities. _It seemed like a stupid game before — not saying the word _vampire_. Now, I get the feeling like I'm being tested. Like Edward is getting tested based on what I say.

"What do you know about us, Isabella? That's the real question," he murmurs, leaning closer, near enough that I can smell his sweet, hypnotic—

I duck my head down and to the right, trying to make it look like a shy gesture, and take a deep breath. He takes one cold finger and lifts my chin. His gaze holds a strange, unlikely mixture of shrewd assessment and, possibly, benevolence?

"I won't be angry, Isabella," he assures me in a smooth, velvety voice. I feel the coolness of his breath on my face, but dare not breathe in. "I'm just intrigued. Edward won't be in trouble if you just tell me the truth. How much do you know?"

_Honesty is the best policy_, Grandma Swan says in my mind. _But sometimes it's wise to hold your tongue. _

"Do you know Edward from somewhere?" I ask in what I hope is a polite voice. Something tells me that civility is kind of a big deal to Aro. "I'm so sorry, but if he told me to expect you it must have slipped my mind. I've been so nervous about the performance, you see. Please forgive me."

"Why doesn't it work, Aro?" Jane finally sputters in frustration.

Did she just refer to me as _it_?

Mentally I calculate the distance between here and Alice's place. Edward won't be back for at least ten minutes, five if he drives quickly.

"That's what I came here to see, dear Jane," Aro says, still smiling at me. "Well, that and the opera, of course. Nothing works with her. Everyone fails with this one. You, me, Carlisle's _son_ Edward, even Demetri. She's exceptional, even in human form. Imagine the potential."

Now I'm actually confused, which is helpful for keeping up appearances of not knowing anything. Leo and one of his friends linger, but they embrace in what looks like a goodbye. I don't know if I want them to stay or leave. How safe am I with them here? How safe are they, period?

"I see you nice folks are having a private conversation," I say in what I hope comes off as a polite tone of voice. "Thank you for coming to see the opera. I'm just going to go change now."

"Isabella, a moment please. Where is Edward?" he asks. "He wasn't expecting us, but I was in fact hoping to see him. I have something for him."

Leo looks at me for a moment questioningly, and I wave at him with a wan smile. At this point, I'd rather he leave.

"See you in a minute," I say, wondering if I'll ever see him again. There's no reason for him to be in danger on my behalf. I'm the one who fell in love with a vampire, and there's no reason he should suffer for my problems.

Aro seems to be treating me with a thin, but surprisingly strong, veneer of civility. I get the feeling that if I respond with whatever he deems an appropriate response, I could be okay. My gut tells me that Aro, much like Hannibal Lecter, would have no problem regarding me as food if I were to become impolite.

I can be polite. Edward is generally incredibly formal, which might be the same thing. I think of Edward, polite to a fault, unless you threaten his girlfriend, and then it's all f-bombs and growling and broken piano keys.

Realizing this, I start to get nervous for a completely different reason. I don't think he's going to see this situation as anything but hostile, unless Carlisle is here, too.

_Maybe his coming isn't such a good idea anymore._

Down the hall in the opposite direction, laughter like the sound of bells filters from down and around the corner from the direction of the public entrance of the theater. It sounds like a man and a woman. It sounds like vampires.

"This should be interesting," Aro says, clearly amused. "Jane, take Bella into the theater. Don't make a sound. Don't hurt her, but don't let her get away, either. We haven't finished our little discussion yet."

"You want me to _babysit_ the human?" Jane scowls.

The ringing laughter gets closer, and two beautiful vampires appear around the corner, their heads bent together in conversation. They are tall and devastatingly attractive. She is so beautiful that I am distracted for a moment until I hear his voice. Then I see his face, still in profile as he flirts with her.

_That_ face, _that_ voice.

This is the face and the voice that have haunted my nightmares since that one horrible night last fall, when the air was just snapping cool. For one horrible moment I'm no longer in the corridor, but in the alley behind Keys, the faces of my loved ones flashing through my mind as Death bends toward me. I am cold and alone, surrounded by evil. I feel a hand on my arm, and close my eyes in terror.

_Not again. _

The hand is much smaller, but it's just as painful as it snatches me into the darkness. It's Jane's hand on my arm this time, and she pulls me through the stage doors in a blindingly fast moment. I blink rapidly, taking deep, silent breaths. The panic that came in a flash begins to recede in a slow, creeping ebb as I realize her hand no longer touches me. My arm throbs from where she grabbed it, but it doesn't feel broken. It's the same fucking arm as last time, too. As my eyes adjust, I realize it's not as dark as I thought, and the faint red glow of the exit light above our heads shows me that Jane's attention is focused on the crack in the door, rather than on me.

"Aro, how was your youth opera? Everything you'd hoped it would be?" my nightmare asks nonchalantly.

_Perhaps he didn't see me. Won't he hear my heartbeat? What if he knows there's a human in here?_

"Well worth the trip, all things considered. Demetri, did you have any luck finding your little songbird?" I hear Aro say through the door as I try to gather my wits.

_Demetri_.

My monster has a name. For some reason knowing his name makes me feel strangely better, like he's just one vampire, not _vampire_ as a general nightmare, an emerging reality.

"No, she wasn't at that club at all," he says. "I told you she wouldn't be. She can't possibly be alive."

"Oh, but you're wrong, my friend," Aro laughs. "Can you not sense her? She was just here, talking to me about the opera. She was one of the leads, in fact."

"No, I don't believe it. You are having a joke, Aro," Demetri scoffs. "It cannot be the same one. My human was singing some kind of pop music."

"Look for yourself," Aro says, most likely showing him the playbill. "I watched her on stage for an entire hour while you roamed around the city, more lost than a common bloodhound."

"Not possible, but it does look like her…" he trails off. "Wait, what's this? But that's him! He's that odd vampire who was willing to fight me for her, when there were hundreds of humans within reach! It was the strangest thing, Renata; he was completely outraged. It was as if _I _were interrupting _his_ hunt instead of the other way around. His behavior was so irrational; I thought it just wasn't worth it. Fighting an unpredictable opponent for a simple meal seemed stupid at the time, but now I'm curious. What could he want with her?"

"How bizarre," says the female in a seductively petulant voice. "She looks ordinary to me."

"Renata, my darling," I hear Aro say. "Are you still pouting that I sent you away? I told you why you couldn't come. There was a mind reader present, and you have no skill in hiding your thoughts. Jane was guard enough, and knows how to control herself."

"Yes, we all know you keep your lapdog on a short leash," replies Renata.

Next to me Jane hisses, and Renata laughs.

Four vampires, one of whom has already attacked me, and Edward will be walking through the door any minute.

There's no way he can fight them all, and knowing his temper, there's no way he won't try. Jane doesn't seem to be paying attention to me at all, though I'm sure it would be different if I tried to get away. Slowly, I reach under my costume skirt into my shorts for my phone.

"So sorry, Jane," she calls through the door, though she doesn't sound sorry at all. "What are you doing in there?"

I can't just tell Edward not to come. Quickly I type out a text to him, with my flowers and my phone angled so that Jane can't see what I'm doing. Fortunately I still have the phone on silent.

_**Mean girls bothering me, headed back. Meet me at my dorm instead.**_

I just hope he buys it.

"Just a little task for me," Aro says, and I feel Jane's slightly crouched hunched stance straighten again. "Jane does what I say, and I love her for it. You should follow her example, Renata. I told you to stay with Eleazar; now, where is he? I'm telling you, these humanitarians are always wandering off. They can't be trusted to concentrate. I think it's their diet; they're always hungry. Always such easy prey."

_Humanitarians? _Well, to be honest, that's a better term than calling the Cullens "vegetarians," although I know that's supposed to be a joke. _Angela_ is a vegetarian. Vegetables are involved. Edward never told me that others exist outside of his family. I wonder if this one would side with or against him if it came down to a fight. That's either four against two, or five against one. Either way, I don't like it.

"He's coming soon," she insists. "He wanted to go exploring campus, so I went with him. He found something marvelous, so I got it for you as a present. Eleazar didn't approve at all, but he's hiding it for me as a favor."

"A surprise for me, Renata?" Aro asks. He must have touched her then, because after a pause, he says softly. "A very nice surprise indeed. I can't wait for it to be ready. But you are jealous of this human girl I came to see? That's very sweet, my darling, but you should know there's no reason to worry."

"Eleazar says she might be a shield of some kind, from what you've told him," she pouts. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

_I'm a _shield_? Is that why Edward can't read my mind? _

Aro can't read me; Demetri can't track me. If neither one of those were true I'd either be dead from mortification with Aro or just plain dead if it were Demetri. I look at Jane, wondering exactly what the hell that little freak was trying to do to me. It was probably sick.I look at my phone. No reply yet. Just a little time, that's all I need. It makes me sick to think of Edward walking into a group of vampires he doesn't trust. If Aro's here, why isn't Carlisle? I can't imagine Carlisle would know about this visit and not be here.

"I still cannot believe she is alive," Demetri insists incredulously. "Where is she? I want to see for myself this is not one of your jokes, Aro."

"You don't sense her at all?" Aro inquires. "And what of this so-called demented pianist vampire, do you sense him? He was here not fifteen minutes ago."

"It happens this way sometimes," Demetri replies. "He was so outraged when I saw him, so angry. Underneath that lay the mind of the classic martyr. I sense nothing like that. Make him very angry and I will have—"

My phone flickers to life, indicating a new text.

_**I'm sorry to be running a bit late. Alice keeps asking questions and refuses to get out of the car. I hope you didn't walk to the dorm by yourself at this time of evening. **_

The part of my brain that once wondered whether Edward sends full-sentence texts experiences a level of satisfaction that the freaked-out rest of me envies.

"Why don't you go find her?" Aro eggs him on. "She's probably still in her dressing room. Demetri, remember what I said before? It goes double now. Do not kill her if you should happen to stumble upon her by chance. Bring her back, but do not harm her. That's an order. I'm very interested in this one, and the humanitarian as well."

The lump of ice passing for my stomach thaws by several degrees as I realize that my death isn't moments away. Unless I'm trusting Aro too much, like Carlisle. I start doing one of those foxhole prayers that Carlisle is somewhere around with his other humanitarian/faux-vegetarian vamp buddies, and that they'll all stroll through the door soon and we can call Edward to come hang out with us.

_Sure, Bella, and then we'll all go and have a nice vampy reunion dinner together, where the drained carcasses of my classmates only cover one half of the table, and I get an extra special plate made just for me._

"You want to make it a game, then?" Demetri says, laughing. "Fine, then. I have other ways of tracking, though I've never needed them before. I want some kind of reward if I don't at least get a little taste."

"I would start with the dressing rooms," calls Aro as I hear whisper-swift footsteps leading in the direction of the dressing rooms.

Alice knew I had my cell, wallet, and keys with me. Would she have just taken everything else? Will Demetri leave my castmates alone? My mostly-empty stomach starts to churn as I think of Annike and Leo, and even the ones I don't like. If anything should happen to them, it will be my fault.

Jane opens the door for me, and I walk out before she can yank me out. She looks disappointed in my obedience. I'm so glad I wasn't made a vampire at the worst age possible. On one hand I realize it must be awful for her, but on the other hand, that kind of explains it.

Renata refuses to look at me. Nice to see that immortality doesn't automatically make one mature. She doesn't seem as threatening as the others for some reason.

"What, Isabella? I told him not to kill you," Aro says, in a defensive voice. "You should know that I am in charge here and that my guard will not hurt you, as long as I wish it so. Sometimes, I change my mind."

My right arm disagrees vehemently about his guards' blanket obedience, but I think it might be impolite to bring it up, and I definitely want to encourage this non-violent kind of thinking. I also want to get the hell out of here before Demetri returns, if at all possible. I just nod, and clutch my flowers.

"I'm surprised your Edward has left you alone so long," Aro frowns. "Shouldn't he have returned by now?"

"No, I'm afraid we're meeting later," I say quickly and almost entirely by accident, honestly.

"Perhaps we can all meet together!" he says, rather brightly for someone who feels it necessary to specify to his henchmen not to _kill_ _me_. "Why don't you call Edward now? I was so looking forward to meeting him tonight. Perhaps you can change your plans, as a favor to me?"

If I were a nice vampire like Carlisle, I can imagine wanting to hang out with Aro. I really can. Clearly, he knows a lot about opera. I might even find his sense of humor amusing if he weren't, in fact, joking about my death. Carlisle knows him and trusts him. I wonder if maybe this is the easy way to do whatever inevitable thing he has planned. Perhaps he just wants to talk.

I think about doing this the easy way for a fraction of a second. The moment I think of doing it, just calling Edward, as Aro wants, I picture the whole thing. The moment Edward walks into this place, so many of our choices could just disappear. And, if I were Aro, and Iwanted to persuade Edward, I would send Carlisle to do it, or at least bring him along for an introduction.

If what Edward says about Aro is true, Aro knows this. What is he playing at? Why _not _bring Carlisle? Who says they didn't?

"Aren't you Carlisle's friend? Are he and Esme here with you then?" I ask hopefully. "We were kind of expecting them to visit. I know he speaks very highly of you."

"Oh, he'll be around soon, I think," he says with a hard gleam in his eye.

Aro reminds me of the most charming velociraptor in _Jurassic Park. _I can tell that he's incredibly intelligent and maybe even admirable in some ways, but right now, he's freaking me the hell out. Just like those little kids who spent half the movie looking terrified, hiding in a shiny kitchen from freaky dinosaurs, I'm just trying to figure out how to get home without becoming someone's snack cake.

"I would very much like for us to meet with you if we could," I say, my whisper barely audible, my eyes as wide as saucers, "But I'm afraid Edward is unavailable for the rest of the evening. Thank you for the flowers, Aro. It's been a long evening for me, and I'm exhausted, so if you can forgive me for it, I'd like to just go home now, please."

"If that is truly your preference, Isabella," he says disapprovingly, taking out a cream-colored envelope sealed in wax with a crimson V. "You may leave in your own way. I suppose you need sleep, after all. But promise me you will give him this invitation? It is for both of you. While I hope the evening will prove pleasant for all, I must inform you that your presence is required. He will understand. Promise?"

"I promise," I say, nodding. I try to hold the envelope, but he won't let it go.

Renata laughs. Aro's civility slips for an instant, and he seems more vicious than before. I wonder what would happen if I just let go and ran. I wouldn't have the invitation, and therefore I couldn't keep my promise. I don't think that would work well. My blood starts pounding in my ears, and I look down the hallway, where I expect Demetri to emerge any moment now.

"Don't worry," he teases. "I'll make certain to give you a head start."

"What?" I ask, shocked. _Just let me go before he returns, please!_

"Oh, and Isabella," he says, pulling the envelope, and therefore me, closer to him.

"Yes, Aro?" I say, fear hitching my breath again.

He brings his face far too close to mine, but instead of a completely evil monster I see ... amusement?

"_Run!_" he whispers with a sinister smile, releasing a lot of sweet, vampy hypno-breath in my face. I try not to breathe in, but I accidentally do at first, and it's a moment before Irealize that he's not holding the envelope at all any more.

My mind splits between the urge to run like hell, costume be damned, and the urge to reassure Aro that I am polite and cultured and therefore inedible. At least, I hope that's the way it works. In the end, thanks to a gust of arguably impolite Aro-breath, all I can do is sort of drunkenly stumble to the exit for what seems like an entire year.

I swing open the door, and a cool breeze startles me into taking a deep, head-clearing breath. I'm free, but for how long? I've seen Edward move incredibly fast. How long can I possibly last wearing a skirt and heels? Granted, my heels are the kind of heels that Ginger Rogers tap-danced backwards for hours in, but I am neither habituated to them, nor am I Ginger Rogers. I'm also neither fast nor strong, but the weak have always relied on stealth and numbers. Maybe I can disguise myself, or blend in. I feel another wave of nausea hit me as I look around at various students walking around. They seem like peaceful deer ambling about, not knowing their true place on the food chain. They look bored. I feel hunted.

Not trusting my balance quite yet, I spot a group of about ten female students headed slightly askew of the direction of my dorm, and awkwardly run to join them. They all look at me like I'm crazy, but they haven't seen crazy yet. I worm my way to the side of their group just in time to see Demetri exit the University Performing Arts Center out of the corner of my eye. I let my hair fall in a curtain and peek through it to watch him. He pauses, sniffing the wind. Belatedly I kick myself for not thinking of that sooner as I hitch up my skirt around my waist over my shorts, and tuck the two bouquets of flowers with Aro's invitation into the bunched up fabric just in time to join an even larger group of runners headed in exactly the right direction. I dash in with them so that I remain hidden. My top isn't the right style or color, but my luck changes for the better with a change in the wind —apparently just at the right moment, too. Over my shoulder I spot Demetri rushing the group of girls I just abandoned at an improbable, if still technically human speed.

Fear forces my legs to stretch, and I imagine myself to be a pair of swift scissors, cutting through the throng of runners. I can hear shouts of outrage and one howl of pain coming from Demetri's general direction, and it makes my stomach lurch. The sting of the new leather straps of my Mary-Jane-looking character shoes keeps me from vomiting until I take a sharp turn once the runners turn the corner to my dorm's main entrance. I haven't eaten in hours, so all the shrubs get from me is bile, fear, and herbal tea.

My feet, however, show tiny streaks of red staining my hose.

_Fantastic, that'll keep the vampires away. Just like sharks in the water._

I use my key and curse a little while getting into the elevator, still not feeling safe, but unable to make it go faster. I get my cell phone out of my pocket to send one final text to Edward.

_**Don't breathe, cut foot. I'm in the elevator now.**_

I haven't run like that since sophomore year, the last time I had to take the Presidential Fitness test in high school. As I limp down the short hallway to my door, I let the skirt fall and try to catch my breath. The door is already slightly ajar, and I enter, hoping like crazy that the right vampire is on the other side.

Edward looks at me with alarm and confusion, but he comes to me and just holds me for a second, and I wheeze in relief. I rest my head against his chest and hear the blood pounding in my ears, feel it pulse throughout my body. I am trying to be calm, but my whole body has become a drum-beat of alarm. Still not breathing, he kisses me softly once. His eyes narrow as he licks his lips, tasting what? Adrenaline? Bile and herbal tea?

"Don't worry," I breathe, waving a hand. I can't bring myself to say more than that.

He seems to have a lot to say, but saves his breath and sends me a text instead.

I don't even check my phone yet, knowing it's going to be some sort of demand for an explanation, but I haven't remotely figured out how to tell Edward what's going on without making him angry enough for Demetri to track him. He helps me off with my shoes while I awkwardly fumble in the medicine cabinet above the sink for some liquid bandage. Edward takes my phone out of my pocket and thrusts it at me, scowling slightly with concern.

_**What happened? Why were you running in your costume?**_

"Just … a … second," I gasp, slightly exaggerating my breathlessness.

I lift up each foot to the sink, first rinsing it and then applying a very painful layer of the blood-stopping, medicine-smelling, stinging-like-jellyfish-tentacles clear stuff, and blow it dry before putting self-adhesive bandages over it.

Edward opens my window and stands next to it, taking breaths out of it occasionally.

"Bella, what the hell is going on?" he demands, though he seems more concerned than angry.

Still not able to come up with anything good, I just blurt out the thing that's been on my mind since seeing that monster — Demetri — again.

"I think you'd better change me, Edward. Immediately, if possible."

"Bella, please, be serious. I just spent thirty very awkward minutes getting interrogated by Alice," Edward says, looking really bewildered. "Who, incidentally, I'm afraid seems to be losing her mind. I think she's getting suspicious, though she keeps changing her mind about what. She actually keeps guessing correctly and immediately dismissing it, but the idea is starting to really bug her."

"I should have told her you have Lupus," I mumble. "She had her heart set on that last Sunday. Okay, just hear me out. And whatever happens, just promise me you won't get angry, okay?"

"You're bleeding and sweating, and I'm certain you just threw up," Edward observes coolly. "And now you're asking you to change you, like, _right_ _now. _So why, exactly, wouldn't I want to get angry?"

"Because there's this vampire who met you once when you were angry," I said. "And he can only track us if you get angry again, because that's, I don't know, his _thing_, like you read minds."

"Are you telling me that this tracker is after you now?" he asks, pinching his nose near the top.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

I just hope the nose-pinching doesn't qualify as bat-shit furious enough to do the trick. No. It can't. We can't afford it.

"It's okay, Edward. He can't track me," I say hastily. "Just like you can't read my mind. I'm probably going to be a shield of some sort when you change me."

"Bella, I hate to tell you this, but a two-year-old could track you right now, let alone any vampire."

I look down to see the tiny blood spatters on the carpet, the flower petals half off of the bouquets I threw with the envelope in my left hand. A few daisy petals flutter to the ground, leading in a trail to the door. He's right. Anyone could track me.

_I _could track me.

"I'll tell you, but we need to get out of here, right now."

"Fuck," Edward hisses under his breath. "We've got another problem."

"He's here?" I ask, terrified.

"No, Alice is," he says, as her small frame drifts in the door, one of her hands filled with white, purple, and red petals, looking … I don't know how to describe how she looks.

She's not crying, but she looks like someone just set fire to her insides. She looks kind of like she's the craziest bitch in the mental institution, and you don't want to fuck with her.

She looks like my best friend, and the sister I always wanted, suffering in agonizing pain.

She stares at the flower petals in my hands, then stares at the two of us as if she's never seen us before. She points to my feet, and of all things, laughs.

"You guys? I've got the worst case of déjà vu ever," she says in this hollow, sing-song voice, going to my bed and picking up the invitation from Aro and handing it to Edward before I can stop her. It's the last fucking thing I want Edward to read right now. "These flower petals, you with your feet all bandaged, and you, Edward; you're supposed to sniff this. After you sniff this you'll help me find Jasper."

~oЖo~

**A/N: ****Yay! Only two people yelled at me! I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for your trust and enthusiasm for my story. Due to a crazy work schedule, I had to choose between responding to every review before posting or finishing the chapter. I hope some of you don't mind waiting a bit for a reply. Every review makes me either ridiculously happy or a better writer (I hope) or both. **


	19. Xeranthemum

Chapter 19: Xeranthemum

A/N: Thanks to all of you wonderful reviewers for cutting me a little slack while my work schedule allows me to write in a timely fashion or reply, but not both; to amazing beta NelsonSmandela; Algie (who rightly recommends listening to but not watching the Rufus Wainwright video), Feisty Beden and ScarlettLetters for all they've done to help keep these tricksy chapters sensical.

Disclaimer: Twilight? It's not mine, I just get turpentine and lemon juice all over it.

* * *

Chapter soundtrack (youtube):

Adam Hurst: _Ruin_

/watch?v=Jxe9LcHvp6Q&feature=related

Rufus Wainwright: _The One You Love_

/watch?v=Zd2hkLjWvzw

~oЖo~

"_Fuck," Edward hisses under his breath. "We've got another problem."_

"_He's here?" I ask, terrified. _

"_No, Alice is," he says, as her small frame drifts in the door, one of her hands filled with white, purple, and red petals, looking … I don't know how to describe how she looks. _

_She's not crying, but she looks like someone just set fire to her insides. She looks kind of like she's the craziest bitch in the mental institution, and you don't want to fuck with her. _

_She looks like my best friend, and the sister I always wanted, suffering in agonizing pain._

_She stares at the flower petals in my hands, then stares at the two of us as if she's never seen us before. She points to my feet and, of all things, laughs. _

"_You guys? I've got the worst case of déjà vu ever," she says in this creepy, hollow, sing-song voice, going to my bed and picking up the invitation from Aro and handing it to Edward. It's the last fucking thing I want Edward to read right now. "These flower petals, your feet all bandaged, and you, Edward; you're__ supposed to sniff this. After you sniff this you'll help me find Jasper."_

Quick as I can, I dash in between them to take the envelope. Now there are three hands on it, none of us letting go. Edward holds on to it, staring at me as though he's never seen me before, and even though I feel like hiding it from him constitutes some sort of betrayal, I'm still terrified. Honestly, a part of me cannot accept that I made it out of the theater alive and whole. I'm still shaking, and it's a damned good thing my stomach emptied already, because this physical struggle with the two people I care most about outside of family would certainly do the trick otherwise.

"Stop it, Bella," Alice admonishes me with wide, fearful eyes. "I don't need him to read it, he just has to smell it."

Edward leans in and sniffs. He recoils as most people would if they came as close to a rattlesnake. Alice abandons the envelope and sits down on my bed, suddenly fascinated by my flowers. I've won the battle and cling to the invitation as though it were a life preserver, and not the catalyst for this bewildering train of events.

"So pretty, daisy means innocence," she says, taking one from my father's bouquet, then adds an orchid and a smaller purple flower and holds them all up to the light. "Red orchid: beautiful lady. Xeranthemum: immortality. So funny, he gave you immortality. He means it, too. Immortali…"

She stops and holds her head between her hands, rocking back and forth. Edward just stares at her with a shocked expression.

"He's suffering," she moans, a single tear streaking down her cheek. "I can feel it. Please, please, help me. Now you know, you know what's happening to him. You won't want to, but you'll help me now."

"Alice," he whispers, the anguish palpable in his voice. "If you're right, it may already be too late. I won't be able to do anything about it."

"No, no, no, NO!" she cries, suddenly loud. "I saw this, all of this. I saw you sniffing the paper and now you know what happened to him. You can help me find him, I know you can."

He sits down beside her and stares up at me questioningly.

"What happened, Bella?" he pleads.

"What does she see?"I ask in a hushed whisper.

He glares at the envelope pointedly. Alice moans again, like someone's physically torturing her. It feels like tight metal bands wrap around my ribcage, making it impossible to breathe.

"Alice, you have to calm down," he pleads with his hand on her shoulder. "I don't know what happened to him. I really need to know what's in that envelope and how Bella came to possess it."

"Just give me a second, Edward," I sigh, stalling.

How can I tell him what he needs to know without risking everything?

"Alice, just wait a moment," he says to her softly, then turns back to me. "Bella, please, just please talk to me and tell me what happened. I know you're scared, but we have a very serious situation here, and I need all the information I can get."

He has a point, and I make up my mind to tell him when Alice suddenly loses her calm.

"It's _JASPER_!" she screams at him suddenly, jumping up to attack him with her bare hands. "He's alone, and he's in pain, and I know you can help me! You! Are you even _human_?"

She's hitting him wherever she can, on his chest, across his face, his arms. I know that what she's doing is hurting her hands, but she's oblivious to the pain and the damage. He just stands there and takes it, looking all kinds of guilt-ridden and sorry.

"Edward, her hands!" I cry, and he quickly traps them in his.

He turns them over. They're bright pink, and her lovely face warps with pain and rage.

"What _are_ you?" she demands, her eyes blazing with a faraway fire. "You never eat anything! You're always so fucking cold! I know you know what's happening to Jasper. He's BURNING, Edward — I can feel it! Please … you … I don't care what you are… You're my _friend_, please?"

And just like that, she goes from rage to pleading, furious to heartbroken within the span of a a few sentences. Edward looks as though he wants to cry, but can't. I'm probably doing enough for the both of us. Alice stops crying and starts swaying on her feet, crossing her reddened hands in front of her heart, like a corpse.

I look down the hallway, deathly afraid of seeing Demetri, but the hall is empty, save a girl carrying a yellow plastic tote to the showers. Alice, bless her, has gathered every single flower petal. I realize I'm still barefoot, and it might be a good time to change that. I take off the bloody hose in my otherwise neat closet, keeping the skirt and shorts on, with all my better alternatives over at Edward's place. While putting on a clean pair of socks and some old comfy sneakers, I freeze in fear.

"Alice," I ask, hoping she can answer. "Did you happen to get my clothes from the dressing room?"

"No, they have your things now," she sniffs, staring at something not in this room. "Not giving them back, they smell too good. You should have worn a cape, Bella. They wear capes sometimes. Those people are so beautiful, aren't they, Bella? Like the stars, they won't come out in the sun. Just like you, Edward. You won't come out in the sun, so you can help me. Just help me find him."

"Who has your clothes, Bella?" he asks in a low, steady voice, stroking my cheek. "I promise I'll stay calm, but you have to tell me what's going on. Just trust me, please."

"I'll tell you, Edward, but we have to get out of here." I whisper back, urgently. "We need to get away from here — from any place that smells like me. What about Alice? Is she seeing something real, like she did last fall?"

"I can't tell if it's something that might happen or is happening," he says, examining her hands. "The images are jumbled. Clearly some of these things haven't happened yet. They couldn't have. We're not even _in_ Italy yet."

"_You know_, Edward," she sobs again, crumpling in his arms. He slides down with her, cradling her like a baby. "I know you know. Just tell me. Just tell me how to find him. You know he's my life, Edward. Please help me… please."

"We'll help you, Alice," I promise, finally opening the envelope.

"I know you will." She nods, gasping for breath. "You guys love me."

I read the folded creamy paper inside, and my shoulders sag in relief. It's a very simple invitation for tomorrow night. Edward and I are cordially invited to… I skim over the wording, but it all looks kind of bland and formal and weirdly normal for a meeting with powerful vampires. They even tell us to dress casually. At this rate, tomorrow night seems like it might never come, so it's kind of low on my priorities to worry about, with Jasper missing. I hand it to Edward, who takes it and stiffens upon reading the words. I wonder if there's something in the wording that makes this invitation something different for them.

"He let me go," I whisper to him, trying to keep him calm. "For what it's worth, Aro gave me a choice."

"Aro says there's a choice, but he'll never let us go," Alice says dreamily. "We're the strongest members of the guard."

Edward stares at her, grim determination settling on his face. Alice just rocks back and forth on the bed, alternating between crying out in pain and just saying random things. It makes no sense whatsoever, but Edward seems to take every word very seriously.

"Alice, I think you'd better accept that he's gone," Edward warns.

"Jasper will find me, he'll bite me, he'll bind me," Alice sings, mournfully. "At least we'll always be together, Bella. Me and Jasper, and you and Edward. All four of us, together, always. It's the only good thing about eternity."

"What does she see?" I ask Edward.

"The four of us, like she says, as members of the Volturi guard," he murmurs.

"What, like it's definite now?" I ask, horrified. "I don't want to be like them."

"Neither do I," he says. "I've been paying attention to Alice's precognitive flashes for a while now. She sees accurately, but her human brain is too slow to process the information. It changes, whenever people change their minds. I think we just have to keep changing our minds until we think of the right thing to do."

Now I understand why he's so focused on her. If Alice's mind isn't fast enough to process what she sees, Edward's is. He can read her like a compass and get us out of this. A much-needed wave of relief washes through me, clearing away some of the panic.

"Edward," I remind him, "we need to get out of here. Maybe we can help her find Jasper and figure something out?"

He turns to stare at Alice. She's staring at her swelling hands. Some of the panic returns. How will she ever play the violin again? How is she going to be with Jasper if he's a newborn vampire?

"Broken," she says softly, and the sympathetic look in his eyes confirms it. "Not to worry, they'll heal in the fire. Jasper's in a lot more pain than this."

"What fire?" I ask. "What about Jasper?"

"It's changing so fast right now, very unclear except for Jasper's changing," he says. "He was bitten by a vampire tonight. That part has probably already happened, and I can probably guess when. Alice first had a vision about Jasper changing at 7:42 pm, towards the end of his lecture."

"Where was it?" I ask.

"Bluthe Hall," they say in unison.

"Let's start there," I say, because these two seem to be more into Alice's visions than the fact that my literal worst nightmare is running around trying to find me, and definitely has my scent from my discarded clothing.

"How fast can Jasper's Jeep go?" Edward asks Alice, fishing the keys out of her coat pocket.

"You'll make it in time," she says, as she walks to the door. "You'll listen for him."

"Let me do that," I whisper, as she reaches for the handle. "Don't touch anything, okay? It will hurt."

"Everything hurts," she says to me, eyes glassy and dull with pain. "It's going to hurt until the last beat. I'm sorry, Bella. I know you wanted to go first."

First. The word pierces me with a surprising amount of jealousy.

Of course, if Jasper's changing right now, Alice will have to be changed, and soon. No amount of memory wiping can change who they are together. He'll find her, and if he's under the Volturi control, they'll know about her soon. If Edward can read her to our advantage, I can only imagine what Aro will think once he finds out about her. If he came to Seattle to find out about my paltry "talent" as a singer or a shield of some kind, and he's so pleased about Jasper's — what? His way of handling people so that they're actually happy to do what he wants? Whatever it is that Jasper does, Aro seemed happy about it. Finding Alice would be like Christmas. I stop at the elevator and turn to Edward.

"If Aro has Jasper, then he'll know about Alice," I say, comprehension dawning. "If he turns her too, then he'll be able to read her like you're doing now! But how would we—"

"If he has Alice, he can figure out how to get to you," he confirms, his voice deceptively calm for the look in his eyes. "And once he has you, then I have no choice. Her vision is accurate. We would be under Aro's influence indefinitely. He would be unstoppable."

"We have to find Jasper first," Alice and I say together.

"I know," Edward says, holding me close as the elevator takes us down. "He can't find out about you, Alice. He can't have Jasper."

"Rose wants another wedding, this time on an island." Alice says, her face brightening. "She's going to let me pick out everything but her dress."

I look at Edward, confused.

"It was just an idea," he says. "She sees it working, I think. I'll have to…"

"You'll have to get Carlisle to change her?" I ask. Edward seems to concentrate hard, and Alice's expression turns gloomy again.

"Aro will never let us go," she whispers. "Carlisle was destroyed for nothing."

"I'll have to change her myself," he says glumly.

~oЖo~

Edward starts at the podium where Jasper must have delivered his lecture, sniffing his way towards the back of the room. I've got my arms around Alice's shoulders, trying to keep her from wandering off. As he zeroes in on the back row, he freezes.

"Eleazar?" he exclaims, shocked. "I don't understand it; he left the guard a long time ago and would never create a vampire. And someone I don't recognize — a female, I think."

"Eleazar — I think they mentioned him. He wasn't there yet; Renata said he was hiding the gift she made for Aro," I inform him. "You think she meant Jasper?"

"I knew it! Vampire," Alice laughs through her tears. "I knew it. Bella, you knew?"

"His family doesn't kill people," I tell her, rushing to dispel the implications forming in her head. "Edward doesn't kill people; he hunts deer and other animals."

Edward's eyes are riveted on Alice, but he's got his cell out.

"Carlisle, where are you?" he says, barely pausing for an answer. "Did you know that Aro is here? … He scared the hell out of Bella and has summoned both of us to meet with him tomorrow evening … Carlisle, tell me about Demetri … Well, he's here too, and he can't track Bella, but supposedly he met me once, but I can't place it … That's true enough … We've been summoned, _as we are_,for tomorrow evening … He's interested in Bella — he got Eleazar to come from Denali …No I haven't seen him, but his scent is here, and Bella recognized his name…"

Alice starts mumbling as Edward rapidly explains, though I notice he doesn't mention Alice or Jasper. Alice tries to move her fingers, but they are so swollen now, every movement makes her cry out.

"…tomorrow afternoon then," Edward says, relief evident in his voice. "Please, keep your cell phone on once you land. We may have to keep moving … Thank you, Carlisle, me too."

"He's coming," he says, snapping his phone shut. "Let's go."

I hope he's talking about Carlisle.

We follow Edward out into the night, trailing behind him as he moves quickly through the shadows. First, we walk in a fairly straight path toward Keys, and I can imagine Jasper walking this way as if he were with us now. Alice walks quickly, her face calm as long as we move. We glide along a sidewalk until Edward stops and takes a sharp right turn, careening in between two buildings. Behind a thorny bush, Edward bends and touches the ground.

"It happened here," he says. "But it looks like Eleazar and Renata part ways. Are you certain Eleazar hid him?"

"It's what she said," I insist. "Aro asked why he wasn't there, and said that humanitarians always wander off. She said he was hiding the surprise."

"Surprise!" cheers Alice faintly. "I see a church, and yellow tape. We're not supposed to go in. Hard hat area. Jasper's there. The other way leads to trouble trouble."

Edward looks in one direction, toward the Performing Arts Complex, and then in the other, away from campus and toward an older part of town. I see a dilapidated old church, the doors crisscrossed with yellow caution tape. As we come close to the door, a man cries out in pain from within the building, the sound muffled.

"Jasper!" Alice gasps, and runs quickly to the door.

She kicks at it until Edward opens it by the hinges. He closes it carefully behind us and takes my hand as we follow her into the pitch black. I hear a match strike, and as my eyes adjust to the dim light of a small taper candle, I see his long lean form writhing on the marble floor, Alice kneeling beside him. Edward hands me the candle, and we come closer. A tightly wound scarf obscures the lower half of Jasper's face, muffling his cries.

"Jazz, honey," Alice sobs, removing the cloth. "Baby, I'm here, I'm here."

Edward's hands cover my ears as Jasper's screams echo off the crumbling walls. His face contorts in agony, an intensified mirror of Alice's expressions.

"Now you see why I hesitate?" Edward whispers to me as I stand over them, watching Jasper's face. "The idea of putting you through that … I can't bear it, Bella."

"How long?" I ask.

"He was only bitten once," he murmurs. "And he's big. Three days, maybe? If she drank from him, even longer."

"I still want to," I say stubbornly, seeing Alice's face relax once she touches him. "You're worth it."

She doesn't seem crazy anymore, now that I know what she was feeling and seeing. She seems calm, if a little spooky. She kisses his face, his hands, his eyes, all the while murmuring that she's here, she loves him, she's so sorry that he's suffering. She's still crying, but she's much calmer now.

"He knows you're here," Edward says, an instant before Jasper takes a ragged breath. "It's helping. Alice, I have to talk to you about something. It's serious."

"I know, Edward," she sniffs.

Jasper continues to thrash, veins and cords and tendons standing out in his purple-tinged face. I reach out to smooth his hair, wanting, needing to comfort him somehow. I think of Edward's journals, and a burning house seems like a wholly inadequate metaphor for the torment in front of me.

"You still have a choice," he says sadly. "Jasper doesn't, I'm afraid. You don't have to be a monster. You can still walk away from this."

"A monster, you mean like you?" Alice sighs, shaking her head. "I'm not leaving him. Edward, I don't care about anything if I can't be with Jasper. What Bella said, about your family not killing people … Is that true?"

"It's true. We hunt animals and try to blend in."

"And this Aro, he does kill people?" she asks, stroking Jasper's face with the back of her swollen hand.

"Lots of them," he says, and I shudder.

"What's happening to Jasper can't be undone, can it?" she asks perfunctorily, less of a question than a confirmation.

"I'm so sorry, Alice," he whispers. "I wouldn't have chosen this for you."

"There's a beautiful blonde woman named Rose?" she asks after a moment of silence. "Was that real?"

"That's my sister, and yes, what you've been seeing are very real possibilities," he clarifies. "Alice, I've never changed anyone before. I know how to do it in theory. I can make it happen faster, but I can't make it hurt any less."

"It already hurts, Edward," she says. "I'll choose for Jasper too. Please, Edward?"

I don't hear anything, but Edward and Alice both look towards the exit in a panic.

"Is he coming?" I ask.

"They're within a few miles," he says, lifting Jasper's long, lanky body over one shoulder, as if he weighs nothing. "We need to move. Alice, try to focus as you did before. We're not safe yet."

We leave the church the same way we came in, and Alice looks in several different directions. She looks back at Edward with a bewildered expression. He's as focused as a laser.

"This way," he says decisively, and we take off running down an unfamiliar street. Edward runs much faster than we do, even carrying Jasper. We don't get very far before Edward stops, doubles back and stops in front of us.

"Alice, stand in front of Bella," he says. "Now Bella, put your arms around her, yes, like that. Don't lean back."

He scoops his arm under my legs, and somehow I'm sitting on Edward's arm with Alice in my lap, with both of us looking over his shoulder. The street flashes by so quickly I have to look away, and turn my face in to kiss his neck, in a silent _thank you._ He doesn't reply except to lean his head slightly to mine.

When he sets us down, I don't recognize where we are at all, and I'm just about thinking that this is a huge mistake, when a taxi appears around the corner. We jump in, arranging Jasper first with Alice supporting him, and me mostly on Edward's lap, and arrive back at the Jeep in mere moments.

"You might want to get that guy to the hospital—he looks pretty rough," the cabbie informs us as I give him all ten dollars from my wallet.

"Will do," Edward says grimly, lifting Jasper from the cab to the Jeep and buckling him in. "Let's go."

Alice climbs into the back with Jasper, and holds him upright. As soon as my seatbelt clicks tight, we're practically flying down the road, weaving in and out of traffic so much that I have to close my eyes. I feel a cool hand on the back of my neck, and look up to see Edward's beautiful eyes on mine. He looks anxious. I smile at him, and lean into his touch.

"How can you smile?" he asks sadly. "After what my world has put you through today?"

"We're together," I say simply, and look in the back seat, where Alice and Jasper lean into each other like broken pillars. "And so are they, thanks to you. Where are we going?"

"The Olympic National Forest," he replies, taking out his phone.

"They don't expect it," Alice says softly. "They won't find us there."

"Rosalie, I need a favor…" he says quietly. "Actually, no, I'm not kidding … in fact, I'm calling in every favor I've ever done … Rochester, that whole 'Emmett's singer' situation, all of it…"

~oЖo~

After driving on the interstate for almost an hour, Edward carefully pulls us off highway and straight into the forest. He turns off the headlights, and I gasp as we seem to drive straight into the trees, but we don't hit anything.

"There's a road here? How can you see anything?" I say in surprise.

"This was the main road into the forest the last time we lived in this area," he says, narrowly steering the Jeep away from something. "And my vision is much, much better than yours."

We've never had the formal vampire discussion, so I'm learning all kinds of new things tonight. I thought he was strong before, but his previous slips in showing me now appear quite trivial in comparison. We drive for another twenty minutes or so this way, the Jeep occasionally swerving sharply in the rich, pulsing darkness. We seem to be driving up an incline, and the trees begin to thin out a little. I see nothing but the occasional patch of stars in the distance, but the night air feels free and wild. We come to a stop, and my eyes adjust to see what looks like thousands of stars.

"Wait in here, I'm going to check the cave for animals," Edward tells us, as if we'd go anywhere without him. He kisses my cheek. "Honk if you hear growling."

With that disturbing request, he disappears into a particularly dense shadow for a long minute. I hear a loud thud, but before I have time to worry about it, he's back, and climbs in, turning on the headlights. He drives us straight to the mouth of a cave, angling the Jeep to provide a bit of a shelter, or at least narrowing the opening.

"I need to hunt and cover our tracks," he says to us, his face illuminated slightly by a bright gibbous moon. "I'm leaving the keys in the Jeep. If anything scares you, honk and I'll come. You might want to say goodbye now. I don't know if you'll be able to talk on the phone or write, but you won't be able to see each other in person while Bella is human, not for about a year."

Everything seems like some beautiful dark painting, with Alice and Jasper's profiles a faint silver outline against a wild and deep darkness. As long as she's touching him, his muffled cries are softer and further apart. Her arms wrap around his neck in a pitiful stance of protection, and my heart breaks to think of what would happen if Edward couldn't change her. She looks so small, so frail. She wouldn't have any kind of chance against the Volturi, nor any choice, if they had Jasper.

"So many stars," she murmurs, the bright outline of her face tilting upwards in a graceful arc against her husband's trembling shoulder. "Is this really happening, Bella?"

"I think it's time to tell you about Edward," I say softly, hoping I'll have enough time.

~oЖo~

I've just about told Alice everything I know about Edward, the Cullens, and what I've gleaned about vampires and the Volturi when he returns. She seems more relieved than surprised, and I feel more than a little guilty when remembering how crazy I felt when Edward was hiding the truth. Having just encountered the Volturi, I've got a new appreciation for why he would want to protect me. The longer Edward's absence, the louder and closer random sounds get in the forest. I check my cell and find the reception going from one bar to "no service" and back again. Jasper moans something that sounds like Alice's name, and I feel eyes on my back. I'm just about to honk the horn when I hear the unfamiliar yet unmistakable sound of massive wings flapping very close to the Jeep, and I let out a little yelp.

"What the hell was that?" I ask as a deadly silence returns to mirror the darkness, signaling Edward's return.

"A great grey owl," he says, much closer than I thought he would be. "Rare for this forest, but it wasn't going to harm you. I think he was just curious."

Edward lifts Jasper and carries him deeper into the cave. It's too dark for me to see exactly how far back he's gone, but I can't hear him any more.

"What if he wakes up?" Alice worries. "I don't want him to be alone and confused."

"He won't wake up for another two days at least," Edward informs her. "Since you're small and I won't … I won't drink from you, you will wake up first. You'll be able to explain everything to him, if you remember."

"You think the vampire who changed him _drank _from him?" she asks, brows furrowed.

"They usually do," Edward says. "It's rather difficult not to."

"Where will I be when I wake up?" she asks after an uncomfortable silence, looking very much like a lost little girl.

"Your guess would be far better than mine," he says with a smile. "And don't tell me, in case Aro finds a way to touch me. You may be able to tell Bella later, but the information should be contained. Speaking of which, do you have any paper in the Jeep? You might want to write yourself a letter. Your memory will be somewhat fuzzy, and we won't be there to help you out."

"There might be something," she says, the pain in her voice suggesting that she's trying to move her fingers. "Jasper likes to hike and think, and he usually takes something to write on in case he gets an idea. I can't write, though."

"I'll do it," Edward tells her. "I can write quickly."

We go to the trunk of the jeep and find a flashlight and an old messenger bag with a spiral notebook, some bottled water and some energy bars in it.

True to his word, Edward writes down everything Alice says as fast as she can say it. He doesn't need the flashlight, so I take it to check on Jasper. As I approach, I hear his muffled moans. I touch his forehead, and it's blazing hot.

"I'm so sorry, Jasper," I whisper, feeling guilty about the Volturi's arrival. I know I didn't invite them, but Aro did come to see me.

As I turn to go back, the flashlight catches something in the far corner of the cave, and I gasp, nearly dropping the flashlight. It's a mountain lion, bigger than me, and it's completely still.

"Don't worry, it's dead, Bella," Edward calls softly. "I was going to move it later."

I reach out to touch it — still warm, and amazingly solid. This was a powerful creature until Edward got to it. I see the bite mark on its neck and touch it, fascinated by the implications. To me it had seemed like Edward had just walked into the cave, checked it for a second, and declared it safe. In reality, it was already inhabited by a powerful predator, and he killed with no hesitation, no struggle. On top of that, Edward had gone out to hunt some more. How many animals did he normally take down while hunting? The image in my mind as Edward being stronger than the average deer hunter changes as I try to imagine him killing and consuming this massive beast in mere moments, without making a sound or damaging his clothing.

It's a little scary but oddly thrilling, too, in some kind of primal sense. I think of his gentle touch and wonder what it would be like to make love with him as an equal. The images that spring to mind send a wave of lust through my body so strong I have to brace myself against the cave wall. Once again I find myself jealous that it won't be me changing in the back of the cave tonight. I know it's neither my fault, nor theirs, but I can't help feeling just a little sorry for myself. I've been the one preparing to become a vampire, and it would make things so much easier with Aro if I did.

"I don't see why you can't just change me, too," I complain, returning to Edward and Alice. "And we can run off in some other direction if it's going to be too much trouble to have three newborns in one place."

"Aro's invitation was very specific," Edward scowls. "If I were to change you before he sees you, there could be serious consequences."

"I didn't see that part," I say, skeptical. I know Edward would do anything not to hurt me.

"It says _Come as you are, especially Miss Swan_, Bella," Edward sighs. "Believe me, I've been testing out our options with Alice's help, and ignoring this invitation never turns out well."

"Oh," I say lamely, as Alice looks at me with sympathy. "It was just a thought."

Alice thinks for a moment, then smiles at me, and Edward smiles too. Whatever they're seeing, it's good, and I feel a tiny ray of hope begin to melt my fears.

"What?" I ask hopefully. "You see something?"

"Everything's going to be okay," Alice says, kissing my cheek. "Or at least, it can be okay. We'll be able to talk, eventually."

"That means I'll be alive," I whisper shakily, and close my eyes in relief.

Immediately I feel Edward, his body like a marble column and his arms around me, stronger than I'd ever imagined.

"Of course you'll be alive," Edward says fiercely, his hands tipping my face up to his for a gentle, protective kiss. "I'll never let any of them hurt you. I promised, remember?"

"I know… It's just … there are so many of them," I say. "I worry about you. They're the only things out there that can hurt you, and there are five of them."

"The cavalry is coming," he whispers. "We just have to make it through tonight, my love. Everything changes tomorrow."

"Do you think this Eleazar will be on your side?" I ask hopefully.

"I hope so," he says, "though I'm a bit surprised he's here at all, frankly."

"Renata said that he wasn't pleased with what she did to Jasper," I say.

"No, he wouldn't be," he agrees. "It's a good sign."

"You're not angry with me?" I ask, holding my breath. "For not telling you right away?"

"I wish you had let me come, that I had been there to protect you, but our current situation would be much worse now if you had." he admits, with a frustrated sigh. "And if what Demetri said is true, I can't afford to get angry. I just wish I knew where he saw me. It's true that I've got a bad temper, and Carlisle said that Aro sends him out to scout talented vampires without their knowledge, so it could have been anywhere, at almost any time. I don't like it."

"Keep calm, Edward," Alice warns, an anxious look on her face. "Oh! You should change me now. It's better this way. I don't know why, but it is."

"You're sure?" Edward asks doubtfully. "You're ready?"

"I'm sure," she says. "I don't know how, but it feels right. Bella?"

I hand the flashlight to Edward and hug her tightly, telling her I love her and that we'll see each other again.

"We'll be sisters," she says with a teary smile. "And best friends forever. I can feel it. Be strong, Bella. Everything's going to work out."

She kisses my cheek and winces as she tries to pat my back, and we're both crying. Then she turns to Edward and holds out her hands.

"When will I be able to play the violin again, Doc?" she asks, knowing now that he twice graduated from medical school.

"The bones in your hands will begin to heal immediately. All of it will be incredibly painful, but when you wake up, you'll be stronger than I am," he tells her. "So you won't be able to play again until you've mastered your strength and it settles down. A few months, perhaps longer. Eventually you'll be able to play even faster."

"And win the devil's golden fiddle?" she asks with a wry smile. "I guess I have an eternity to find a Stradivarius."

"You do," he promises. "But until then we'll keep your violin for you, and everything else you wanted in storage. I'll take care of everything, just as you asked."

She's quiet for a moment, and Edward just stares at her intently, holding my hand. I can tell he's nervous, so I give it a gentle squeeze. His hand is unyielding, but he squeezes back, just a little bit.

"Are you going to be my vampire dad?" she asks, frowning. "Because, even though you're like, over a hundred years old, I still feel like you're the same age, or younger."

"That would be kind of weird," he agrees with a slight smile. "Vampires usually call it a sire, but it would probably be easier if you think of Carlisle as more of a father, if you want. We think of ourselves as more of a family than a coven."

"I'd like that," she says after a moment, a soft smile on her face. "Now Edward, quickly."

He's staring at her, and whatever she's thinking spurs him into action. She cries out in fresh pain as he appears to kiss her neck, and he pulls back with a low hiss. The wall of the cave meets my back, and I realize I've been backing up. Jealousy burns through me again, and this time I'm not sure if it has to do with the sight of him even appearing to kiss another woman, or if it's the fact that she gets to turn before I do. He bites her wrists, and I silently hope the venom works quickly. Alice lets out a high, keening scream as the venom really starts to kick in, and Edward clamps his hand over her mouth. Her face is wild and her eyes unseeing, and I feel horribly ashamed of my secret envy now.

He takes her scarf and winds it around her head in much the same way Jasper's was, and lifts her carefully, gently as he would a small child. I keep the flashlight on them as he lays her next to Jasper's writhing body, placing one of her broken hands on his face, and one of his on hers. The moment their skin touches, they both calm down considerably, even though it's obvious they're both in agonizing pain.

"Do they know they're together?" I ask, reclaiming his hand as we look at them.

It feels strangely as though we've just tucked two sick children into bed.

"They sense each other, yes," he says with relief. "It helps."

"Good," I whisper, the ache in my chest beginning to fade.

"Bella," he says, leading me out of the cave, into the night. "I'm going to camouflage the cave."

I excuse myself for a moment, and when I come back he hands me bottled water and an energy bar.

"I'm not hungry," I say, beginning to feel truly exhausted. "But I am tired."

"You've barely eaten anything in two days, so humor me, please?" he says, getting into the Jeep. He pats the seat next to him.

"We can't leave them!" I say, worried.

"Don't fret," he says. "I'll keep my eye on them. I just want to move us away from the cave in case they find us."

I get in, and we drive for a couple of minutes. I wonder how he's going to watch the cave from here until he stops at the base of a giant coniferous tree.

"Bella," he says softly, helping me out of the Jeep. "Alice said before you were jealous."

I blink back a few remaining tears and look up into the velvety darkness, starlight filtering through wherever trees allow. I wonder how well Edward can see by the light of suns so far away it takes hundreds of years for their rays to travel to us small, temporary beings lucky enough to understand what they are, at least for the past few hundred years. _Temporary_ …some of us less so than others. He watches me carefully as I take a deep breath, tasting the green of the forest.

"Horribly jealous," I finally admit. "I know it's irrational, and I wanted you to do it, but I really hated seeing you change her."

"I'm glad," he says darkly, and I look at him in surprise. "Because now I can admit I was insanely jealous whenever you kissed Leo, even though it was part of the opera."

"It was only on the cheek!" I say, more relieved than objecting. "But I'm glad it's not just me being irrational. Edward?"

"Yes Bella?" he asks, and I stand on my toes to kiss him.

I don't have to stay on my toes long, because as soon as my lips touch his, he bends down to me, holding my face between his hands and kissing me with surprising intensity. I cry out against his mouth as my need for him overwhelms me, and I thread my fingers into his hair to pull him closer. Or at least, to indicate to him that I need him closer.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks raggedly as he pulls away to look at me. "I'm sorry; I don't know what came over me."

"Not at all," I assure him, kissing his neck. "I promise, you didn't. I just … I need you, Edward. Please…"

"Bella," he groans as his hand slides up under my skirt and along my bare legs. "We really shouldn't do this out here— God, your _scent— _You _do_ want me, fuck — I can't…"

I've read about this — about how things like earthquakes, war, and almost any dangerous situation can make people's sex drives go haywire, but I'm still surprised at how powerful my need for him is in this moment. I feel like any other part of the forest, operating on instinct and need as he rips my tiny shorts open and his fingers dive under silk to find me as slick as we both knew I would be. He growls as he tastes his fingers, the sound sending some small curious thing scampering away in the forest. I could laugh at the ridiculousness of that if I weren't trying so hard to impale myself on any part of Edward I can get to.

"Delicious," he says in an unbelievably seductive tone, his hand returning under my skirt to work me into a writhing mess of frantic need. "And so impatient. Do you know how careful I have to be with you? Someday I'll show you, though I don't know how I'll replicate your amazing _heat._"

The way he says this last bit sends me over the edge, and I call out his name and probably some additional random syllables as I come against his hand. I unbutton his shirt as fast as I can, desperate to feel his skin on mine after every horrible thing that has happened today. I barely have time to register the tree against my back when he lowers me to the soft ground.

I feel cool air on my chest, so we're thinking alike, and I get my wish as my feverish skin meets his cool, hard chest and his mouth opens over mine. I barely have time to get dizzy when I feel cool air again and even cooler lips and tongue, his mouth moving down, swirling down and delicious over every naked bit of me, until all I can touch is his hair, and he's tugging down the shorts and my heart is racing and he kisses me through the silk until I cry out again, begging, just begging, though I have no control over my thoughts or voice and everything just turns into a chant of please _please, Edward, please, please, Edward, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease__**…**_

He pulls away for heartbreaking moment, and I want to howl in protest until I hear the telltale rip of foil, and feel my panties slide down my legs at the same time. _Thank you thankyouthankyou. _

"Carrying one in your wallet now? Were you expecting this?" I laugh, relieved and greedy as I feel him push against me.

"I most certainly was not expecting _this_," he says, and I gasp in pleasure and the ghost of pain as he pushes into me slowly, almost as painfully as the first time. "But it's a damned good thing it was in there. I don't think I could have stopped for any reason with you begging me like that, all hot and tight and wet, clenching around my fingers."

I wrap my legs around his waist, shuddering as he mentions his beautiful fucking fingers. I'm clenching around him again as the pain wears off, and I feel this amazing urge to do _something, _a need for some thing I can't place until he swears again and starts moving inside me. That would be the mysterious need, yes, I think, our joined bodies teaching me a kind of new vocabulary as a glorious friction overrides any remaining discomfort. I'm moving with him because, holy shit, the lower half of my body sort of automatically knows how to do this and it's a wonder and a joy as my mind shuts off almost completely, chiming in only to take an occasional note or just cheer us on.

"Edward, don't stop," I moan, surprised at how desperate I sound. "It's so _good_."

"Thank God, because I really don't want to stop, Bella. You have to tell me if I hurt you," he reminds me, panting as his thrusting gets a little harder, a little wilder. "I thought I knew, because I could read their thoughts; I just thought they were like animals… I had no clue, no fucking idea."

I arch against him and cry out again and he _laughs_, this low, deep laugh that turns into a growl as his powerful body moves against and inside me. I'm sort of doing my part too, spurring him on with my feet, but it's clearly a hollow gesture compared to the unstoppable force moving between my legs. It doesn't matter, as the pleasure starts to connect to itself, and I feel like an entire ocean, wave after deep wave rolling within me. He kisses my mouth until I'm dizzy, my neck until his growl turns into a hiss, and I'm saying his name like a mantra. I can't help thinking of the big mountain lion in the back of the cave as his voice takes on this feral quality, and I wonder if what he hunts makes a difference. If so, I'm going to find out where the lions are because that's what he should be drinking all the time.

Another huge wave crashes over me, and I think this might be the one to knock me out when his pace picks up, and the growling gets louder. I'm trying to decide whether or not it's too painful, because honestly, I kind of like it, but fortunately I don't have to decide, because he suddenly stops, his face contorting gloriously in the moonlight. My brain and body begin to reconnect, my mind riding like a surfer on the smaller waves rolling rhythmically through my body, and around him where we are still joined.

We both look down between us at the same time, bumping our heads just a little, and he kisses me deeply and tenderly.

"I love you, Bella," he says between kisses, moving around my face and neck as he rests his weight on his forearms. "And I'm almost sorry for attacking you like this. Please tell me you're okay."

"I love you too, Edward. This was the worst day of my life," I say, running my hands through his hair, "until just now. What was that — twenty minutes ago? Please feel free to attack me anytime. If we make it out of this mess with the Volturi, we should do this more often."

"It's been more like an hour. and _when_ we make it out of this mess," he says, his voice laced with dark promise as he pulls slowly away, "we're going to do this a lot more often. When I change you, we're going to do nothing _but_ this for an entire year."

"Oh," I laugh, as he nuzzles my ears one at a time, sending glorious tiny aftershocks through me. I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling soft, breakable, and loved. "So it's no longer an 'if' but a 'when'? That's good news."

"You're my mate, Bella," he explains, standing up and pulling me with him. "The Volturi know about us, and they won't let you stay human. I only wish I could take the pain for you."

"You're worth it," I tell him again, and mean it.

He kisses me again, sweetly this time, and quickly does up our shirt buttons.

"Close your eyes," he says, breaking the kiss.

I close my eyes and feel one of his arms tighten around my waist. I feel a slight tug, like I'm in an elevator.

"Now you're just showing off," I whisper in his ear as he settles us on a thick branch with a view of the cave's mouth and the highway curving around the forest in a long, winding strip. From the top of the tree it looks like a diamond snake and a ruby snake sliding lazily in opposite directions.

"Maybe," he says, holding me securely in one arm as the tree sways gently with the wind. "But this is a good place to keep watch. Sleep now, love, if you can."

He sits cross-legged on the thick branch, holding onto the tree with one arm and me with the other as he gathers me securely under his jacket to shield me from the cold air. I feel safe somehow, and look up to see the most glorious blanket of stars I've ever seen. They seem so close I could touch them, the twinkling lights reminding me of how Renee once told me that stars were really fairy campfires. The wind rocks us to the rhythm of my lullaby as Edward hums to me. Sleep swirls reason from my mind, and I reach up to touch heaven. My warm fingertips find his full, cool lips, vibrating with our music, his watchful eyes the last thing I see as I'm finally lulled into sweet, mindless oblivion.

~oЖo~

**A/N: The Cullens are coming! The Cullens are coming!**


	20. Give Chase

**Chapter 20: Give Chase**

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the reviews and patience. Thank you, NelsonSmandela, for your always awesome beta, and Algie, Feisty and ScarlettLetters. Massive shout out to Feisty and the ladies at the Perv Pack Smut Shack for the review. Feisty's new name is Fort Knox because we talk almost every day and she never once told me. Nor will she tell me the end of Sleepers, Awake. But it's coming soon. Yay! Canzone, however, has a ways to go.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, but I'm almost out of turpentine. I promise. **

**Chapter Soundtrack (Youtube):**

**Shivaree: Goodnight Moon**

**/watch?v=LRqUONe_aAI**

**Chris Isaak: Baby Did A Bad, Bad Thing**

**/watch?v=EWf7cT8CTDI**

**Feisty says that Right Here, Right Now by Fatboy Slim still plays in her head for these action chapters. It kind of does in mine, too. **

~oЖo~

"_What the __**hell**__ did you do, Edward?" _

This beautiful, feminine voice invades my dreams, or my sleep, I'm not sure which. It's hard to tell when you expect to be in your bed, getting the old vampire cuddling treatment, which admittedly is not so much cuddly as it is sexy as hell. No, instead of the soft bed/firm boyfriend combo I've grown accustomed to, I feel hard dirt and my own stiff limbs. I can still smell Edward's scent in the fabric covering not quite enough of me, and I pull my legs in tighter while squeezing my eyes shut as hard as possible.

It's not working. I'm still lying on a dirt floor. Which shouldn't be — because I fell asleep … in a tree? The happenings of the previous day float in my mind like bits of flotsam from a shipwreck, none of it making any sense. Reluctantly, I open my eyes to find a really big vampire staring at me from a couple of feet away.

He's huge, like linebacker big, but his face is kind of sweet and curious, with dimples in his cheeks, and his hair in soft-looking curls. He's got that hot, pale vampire sexy sheen, and I bite back the urge to ask him if he's a good witch or a bad witch.

"Um, Edward?" I call out tentatively, hoping he's still here.

He moves aside slightly, and I sigh in relief to see Edward, until I get a good look at the woman staring at him like he's a complete moron. Alice had described Rosalie as a "beautiful blonde." That's like saying that the Grand Canyon is a "nice view." Seeing her standing near Edward, even though they look annoyed with each other, makes me feel like hiding with a paper bag over my head. I feel like I just woke up on Mount Olympus and am surrounded by exquisite Greek statues come to life, fairly certain that spending the night in a tree after all of yesterday's insanity doesn't qualify as beauty sleep, to say nothing of morning breath.

"It's just Emmett and Rose, Bella" he says, with an apologetic smile at me. "They won't hurt you."

I'm fairly certain he spoke too soon as the goddess turns her glare at me, and I feel like she might have accomplished whatever it was Jane was trying to do last night. I bet Rose is one of those women who probably looks amazing doing anything: being angry, being happy, crying, applying mascara, whatever. This lady has no bad angles.

"And don't get me started on _that,_" she points at me. "A human? Really Edward? You have no business interfering with her life."

"I happen to want Edward in my life," I say, getting up slowly.

"Nice," Edward mutters at her, flustered. "And I happen to recall you bringing home a certain human one day yourself, begging Carlisle for help. What I don't recall is giving you a lot of grief over it."

"You know it's not the same," Rose scowls. "You don't belong together. She could still have a chance to live a real life. You're just going to take all that away from her?"

"I know what I want," I insist, taking Edward's hand as a flash of guilt crosses his handsome face. "And I'm not afraid of you."

I actually am kind of afraid, but I'm pretty sure Edward has my back if she tries anything.

"Whoa, kitten's got claws!" Emmett says, laughing. "So cute, even while facing the wrath of Rose. Is she always like this?"

"All the time," Edward says conspiratorially to Emmett, wrapping his arms around me. "Can't you at least be civil to Bella, Rose?"

"Emmett was dying," she snaps. "Like you and me and Esme. Bella looks healthy enough to me. What would happen if the Volturi found out about this? You could put us all at risk, Edward."

"You think I would call in every favor I've ever done for something small?" Edward retorts. "Half the Volturi are here, and we've already been summoned."

"Oh really?" she asks in a conversational tone like a cheerful flag perched on an iceberg of sarcasm. "And I suppose you want us to come along and face them with you, fight and die for you and your spectacular judgment call? Why is it every time you leave Mommy and Daddy you're either going on a killing spree or turning half of Seattle into vampires? You'd think that after the century mark you'd be able to make some decisions on your own."

"Come on, Baby," Emmett coaxes, putting his arm around her. "If Edward is asking us to help, we're here to help, no matter what; you know that."

"Actually, no, Rose," Edward says calmly, clasping Emmett on the shoulder in appreciation. We're all connected now, though a noticeable gap remains between Rose and me. "I'm not asking you to stay and fight at all. I need you to get as far away from the Volturi as possible, and stay hidden for a while. It'll be tricky; there will be newborns involved."

"Yeah, you said. You mean _her_, I suppose, and who else?" she huffs, though her tone softens with Emmett's touch. I start to relax a little. "Newborns are a lot of work, Edward."

"Actually, no," he says, turning to the back of the cave. "Not Bella. Come with me."

I take the flashlight and follow them deep into the cave, taking time to notice that the mountain lion is gone. I'm more than a little bummed that he said _not Bella,_ but I guess the priority clearly involves getting Alice and Jasper away from Aro. I still wish we could just run away. Before we even get near them, Emmett whistles low, and Rose gasps as he clears away branches, revealing Alice and Jasper, trembling and looking like they're having the same nightmare. They're clinging to each other, their scarves barely muffling their anguished cries.

"Damn," Emmett says, shaking his head in admiration. "Man, when you decide to mess up, you go big. How did this even happen?"

"It's kind of complicated," Edward begins, looking uncomfortable. "They're our friends, and they're quite talented, even as humans. The short version is that one of the Volturi changed Jasper here. His wife chose to be changed with him, and now they need to be hidden from Aro."

"Wait, what? So _you did_ change her? Who changed him? Why is Aro interested in Bella?" Rose asks in quick succession, her jaw dropping in surprise. "And do you mean to tell me that we're supposed to steal something from the most powerful vampires on the planet? Isn't that insane?"

"Alice is an amazing psychic," Edward explains, "even in human form, but the Volturi don't know about her at all. This will work, as long as you tell nobody but Bella where you're going. What won't work is Aro controlling Jasper. If he has him, he has Alice, and if he has Alice, he can get anything he wants, including Bella and me."

"Then he would have a psychic, a telepath, and what are these two?" she asks, pointing at Jasper and then at me.

Objects, apparently. I try not to bristle, but Venus' attitude isn't helping any.

"Jasper displays some kind of ability to get people to do things for him," he says, apparently used to her rudeness enough to ignore it. "And the weirdest thing is, they're happy about it. I've read the minds of people talking to him, dead set on one course, and somehow when he speaks to them they change their minds. He's got some kind of influence — possibly even on me, when I was struggling with a decision. And nobody's powers work on Bella, from what I can tell, except Alice's. I can't read her mind, nor can Aro. Demetri is Aro's personal tracker, and he's known for being able to track people from halfway around the world by locking in on some kind of thought-pattern, almost like radar. He can't track Bella, apparently."

"Also some teen vampire named Jane," I add. "Whatever she does doesn't work on me either; though, honestly, I'm still not sure what she was trying to do."

The three vampires just gape at me.

"Aro brought Jane?" Edward asks after a moment, keeping his voice low. "How do you know she tried her power on you?"

From the way he says it, whatever she was trying to do must have been pretty bad.

"Aro told her that, um…" I stall, trying to think of a way to put it nicely. "He told her that her power wasn't going to work on me, so she could try. She just kind of stared at me with this weird smile on her face, so I smiled back at her, and then she was frustrated and kind of pissed off. I guess this means you guys know who she is?"

"Yes, Bella," Edward says into his palm. "She's kind of famous in our world. She's a prized member of the Volturi guard and a total sadist."

The handprint-shaped bruise blossoming on my right arm agrees with him, but I smooth my long, dirty sleeve over it to keep it from agreeing too visibly.

"So, Bella, if you turned, you could have a serious natural defense," murmurs Emmett, eyeing me with new respect. "You could _be_ a defense. The four of you together, combined with the existing guard? That's intense. They could do whatever they want to do."

"That's what Alice said," I confirm, "and yes, supposedly Aro thinks I could be some kind of shield. _When_ I turn."

Edward draws me even closer at my insistence, and Emmett nods his head slightly in understanding.

"Great, so now we have to handle two talented newborns?" Rosalie protests, bringing the subject back to her complaint. "How are we supposed to do that without you there to read their minds? What if they overpower us?"

"They won't, and Alice will help once she turns," Edward promises. "She saw us all together as a family. She saw you two planning your next wedding. The rest of us will join you as soon as we can. I'm sorry, but we really need your help, Rose. Carlisle is coming tonight. He's going to try to talk to Aro on our behalf."

Rose stands there, her arms crossed in front of her considerable chest, staring at Jasper and Alice. Her face softens as she looks at Alice's small features and their intertwined fingers. I notice that while their faces still twist in pain, they've taken on some of the same eerie beauty I've seen in all vampires. Still recognizable, they look like the Hollywood versions of themselves, like their own oddly better-looking identical twins.

I don't know if it's their beauty or their love, evident especially in the throes of their transformation, but something about them seems to break Rosalie's determination to refuse to help us. She smoothes Jasper's blond hair, so close in shade to her own, and Alice's face relaxes into a smile for the briefest of moments. I turn to look at Edward, who just squeezes my shoulders reassuringly.

"I'm not saying I like it," Rosalie finally says. "But I don't think I want to live in a world where the Volturi are that powerful. What do you need us to do?"

~oЖo~

As Edward and Emmett settle Jasper and Alice into the Jeep again, Rosalie eyes me warily.

"He really can't read your mind?" she asks, a bit less hostile now.

I sigh, realizing that I'll probably know her for eternity if things go well, so I should make the most of it.

"That's right," I say, trying to achieve a neutral tone.

"I wonder if that's why…" she trails off.

I don't say anything. Why he fell in love with me instead of all the rest of the women whose minds he can read? Why he fell in love with me instead of Rose, as beautiful as she is? Which leads to the idea that if he could read _my_ mind, would I also lose my appeal to him?

"And Jane? Nothing? Really?" she asks, looking a little awed and a lot skeptical. "Are you sure she was trying?"

"She was trying to do something, and believe me, she was really unhappy about failing" I smile, a little curious myself. "What is it that she's supposed to be able to do, anyway?"

"Carlisle says she gives the illusion of horrible pain, worse than changing, even," she says with a shudder. "It's completely immobilizing — vampires or humans — down on the ground, writhing in pain while she smiles like a kid at a carnival. She's sick."

"She seemed delighted that Aro would let her try in public," I say, frowning at the memory. "Her pleasure … it was creepy, now that I know that."

"Creepy is not a strong enough word. The Volturi are a horror show," she says, and then hesitates, looking at me appraisingly. "I am sorry they got close enough to you to scare you. They terrify _me_. A human shouldn't be subjected to such things."

"Thanks," I say, thawing out a little bit. "I wasn't sure how scared I should be until Demetri showed up. When I saw how many of them there were—"

"How many?" she asks curiously.

"There were four, and then another was coming, but they said he was like you, so I hoped—"

"You hoped Edward would get there fast enough?" she asks, nodding.

"No! I hoped they were going to let me go," I shudder. "I sent a text to Edward to make him stay away. Edward against four vampires? I already knew he didn't trust Aro, and if he recognized Demetri—" I shut my mouth and my eyes at the same time, horrified at my slip.

"You wanted to protect him?" she asks, her eyes appraising me speculatively. "That was brave."

"I don't know about brave," I admit. "It all happened so fast. I was just reacting to every new thing, just trying to make it to the next moment."

A silence fills the air between us, and from the look on her face she's probably torn between her initial hostility and begrudging respect.

"I'll send you a text when we decide to stay someplace," she says, handing me her phone. I add myself to her contacts and send myself a text message. "I can't believe we're doing this. You owe me, Edward."

We walk up just as Edward and Emmett exchange car keys and brotherly hugs bordering on violence. The sight of Edward parting with family for what could be a very long time hits me hard, and I reach in the Jeep to cover Alice and Jasper's clasped hands with my own. They look so pitiful, like lovers clinging to each other in the lava flow of Pompeii. Guilt bubbles up in me, as I think, if I had only told Dr. George I wasn't ready for Volterra, if I hadn't fallen in love with Edward, maybe then Aro wouldn't have gotten curious about me, and they would be human, unchanged. If I had just kept my mouth shut when Demetri tried to kill me in the alley…

"I'm so sorry, Jasper, Alice," I whisper again, hoping they can hear me. "This is all my fault. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"No, Bella," Edward says, putting his hand over mine. "It's my fault. Rose is right; I have been selfish; I've put you in far too much danger."

"Don't say that! If it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead by now, but they came here to see me, so it's m—" Edward and I talk over each other, scrambling for blame, when I hear an exasperated sigh behind us.

"I take it back," Rose says dryly. "You're perfect for each other. Go, be martyrs. Have fun with that."

She steps into the driver's seat of the Jeep, and Emmett surprises me by hugging me gingerly, like he's embracing a bunch of baby chicks. The high five he gives Edward over my shoulder sounds like a thunderclap, and I now wish they could stay to help us meet the Volturi. Intuitively, I feel incredibly safe with Emmett, and something tells me that Rose is a good person to have on your team, if you can get her to come around. With Demetri on our trail, we can't risk it.

"Goodbye, Bella, it was nice meeting you," he says, "I'm sure we'll see each other again really soon."

The Jeep disappears into the woods, leaving me a jangled up mess of guilt, loss, and relief. I turn into Edward like a turtle retracting into its shell, and feel his arms lock around me in exactly the way I need them to in order to keep me from falling completely apart.

"Do you think they'll forgive us?" I ask his shirt.

"It won't even occur to them to blame us," he says. "Though I don't know why."

"Alice?" I ask, peeking up at him, relieved in spite of myself.

"Alice," he smiles.

"She's really something, isn't she?"

"Just wait till she's a vampire," he says. "Any skill a human has gets multiplied by at least a hundred when they change."

"So when you were human, you didn't read people's minds?"

"The memory has faded too much for me to say exactly, but Carlisle says that my mother was impossible to lie to," he says, and his cell phone buzzes. "Speak of the devil, Carlisle, where are you? We can pick you up ... That's actually better, I'd rather meet away from Seattle, maybe Bremerton? ... No, we're in the forest right now, near the cave where Emmett found the bear cubs … exactly. No, that place sounds perfect. We'll meet you there."

Edward and I barely get on the road when I look in the passenger's vanity mirror.

"Edward, I can't meet your father like this!" I cry, trying to comb my hair with my fingers. "Can't we stop at a gas station where I can at least brush my teeth and wash my face?"

"Of course," he says, picking a leaf out of my hair. "Though I think you look kind of cute like this."

"I'd rather not meet my future father-in-law for the first time looking like a feral cat," I reply, trying to spit-rub some dirt out of my cheek.

"Say that again," Edward says, and I turn my head to look at him. I'm all worried that he's going to lose his temper any minute, but his face looks nearly euphoric.

"I look like a feral cat?" I ask stupidly.

"No, the other part," he whispers. "About our future."

Oh yeah. I did say "father-in-law" without even thinking about it.

"You are my future, Edward," I say, smiling at him as we pull in to one of those gas-station-mini-marts.

I run in while Edward fills the tank, stopping to buy a toothbrush, hairbrush, first aid kit, and a giant bottle of water. The cashier looks at me really funny, definitely disapprovingly, which I totally understand, given how rough I must look. I run into the bathroom and do the best I can in ten minutes. The cuts on my feet don't look infected at all, and I make a mental note to buy more liquid bandage as soon as possible.

When I get back in the rented SUV, the smile has gone from Edward's face, replaced by a serious scowl. I barely have time to buckle my seatbelt before we peel out, the tires squealing in protest.

"What is it?" I ask, worried. "Are we being followed?"

"Not that I know of," he says tersely.

"Then what's wrong?" I ask, but I have a sick feeling about it. I'm missing something.

"The clerk," he says through clenched teeth. "At the gas station."

"What?" I ask, trying to remember what in our conversation might have happened to set Edward off. "What was he thinking?"

"It isn't what he thought," Edward says, reaching over to tug lightly at my right sleeve, which I just realize has bunched up a little. "It's what he saw. Bella, your arm— it's all bruised. I know you're afraid to tell me what happened, but I need to know."

I look over at him, and he's close to losing it.

"Edward, look at yourself," I say. "Please try to keep calm. If you get any angrier, Demetri will—"

"Angrier? I'm pretty angry right now, and how would you know how angry I should be for him to be able to track me? How would you know that unless Demetri… You said… You told Rose…" Edward says loudly in sudden realization, and I feel the crisis coming on like a tidal wave, unstoppable now.

He's practically vibrating with it, and I peek to look at his face. His eyes narrowed, he scans the road, as if daring Demetri to appear out of nowhere. Against my better judgment, I've tried to imagine what Edward would look like hunting large prey, or killing people as I know he has, but I've never been able to picture it until seeing this murderous look on his face. Now it's easy. Whoever said 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' has obviously never met Edward Cullen.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"You recognized him from the club, didn't you? That's why you didn't want me to come. That's why Aro came to see you. He saw your face in Demetri's memory, in Carlisle's mind from the picture I sent, all in addition to Dr. George's recommendation. Damn it all to hell!" Edward yells, hitting the dashboard, which cracks in an earthquake pattern. "Aro knowingly sent you out on a cat-and-mouse chase with the vampire who tried to kill you, didn't he? That SICK FUCK!"

"Edward," I cry, guilt and frustration gripping me. "_He's going to find us_!"

"He wanted this the whole time," he seethes, unabashedly furious now. "Aro wanted me to find out, to get angry. He deliberately frightened you. That's why you were so scared that you ran until your feet bled. That's why you were so fucking terrified you reeked of adrenaline last night. He wants us both, and he wanted to provoke me so that fucking animal could track us. _I'll rip his fucking head off._"

"He told Demetri not to kill me," I say, though it's too late to make a difference now. "I should have told you before. I'm so sorry, Edward. He told him it was an order, he wasn't to harm me."

"You were scared, Bella," he says in a calmer voice now, stroking my hair. "I don't blame you. Look at what happened. This certainly complicates things."

"Maybe—" I say, but he shakes his head.

I brace myself against the cracked dashboard as we change two lanes in a nearly horizontal move.

"No, it's too late. Demetri just locked on to me, I can hear him," he says, and the ice starts to form in my veins again. "He was already driving around, trying to find us. He's just inside three miles south, headed right for us."

He whips out his cell phone and dials, speaking too quickly into the receiver for me to hear. I close my eyes as the number on the speedometer quickly doubles. I can feel us weaving in and out of traffic, the car jerking decisively left, then right again as he changes lanes. The whole time he's talking on the phone, and I can't help but imagine Demetri closing in on us.

Edward makes a sharp right turn, flying off the interstate over a grassy median and into the traffic of a feeder road before skidding smoothly behind a warehouse, where a sleek, silver car waits for us, idling.

"Get out of the car and get into Carlisle's," Edward says. "Please Bella, just do what I say. Don't worry, I'll get us out of this."

"What?" I say, alarmed.

He gets out and opens my door for me as a stunningly handsome blond vampire approaches us. He and Edward embrace, and he turns to me with a warm, concerned smile. That expression reminds me of the doctor who told us Grandma Swan was dead.

"Why are we meeting Carlisle here?" I ask, confused.

"He can't track you, Bella" he explains. "So we're splitting up, just until it's safe."

"NO!" I protest as he half-carries me to Carlisle's car. "It's not safe!"

"It's okay, Bella," Carlisle says. "I promise I won't hurt you."

"Not worried about that," I say. "What are you going to do, Edward?"

"Carlisle will get you to a safe place," Edward says, buckling me into the passenger's seat. "And I'll join you soon. I can take care of Demetri, but not if I'm worried about you."

He kisses me passionately — almost too passionately — as Carlisle gets into the driver's seat.

"Take Bella to her father's house and give this to him," he says, pulling a pen and a piece of paper from his pocket. He writes quickly and hands it to Carlisle after folding it nearly like an envelope. "I'll join you within the hour of your arrival. That letter will explain everything to him."

Before I can even process what's happening, the two cars are speeding off in opposite directions on the freeway, Edward racing towards Seattle, Carlisle and I speeding towards Forks.

It's wrong, all wrong, and it takes me a minute to figure out why. His tinny tone, emotionless expression — the wrongness of it crashes around me like a pile of breaking dishes. Edward didn't let me listen to whatever he told Carlisle, and now he doesn't want Carlisle to read the note.

"He's lying," I insist. "Whatever's in that letter isn't for my father; it's for one of us. He just doesn't want you to read it now."

"What?" Carlisle demands, looking me in the eyes. "What makes you say that?"

"I can always tell when he's lying," I say. "Just read it, please."

He slows down a little as he opens the paper and reads it.

"Edward," he growls. "How can my son be so bloody brilliant and so bloody stupid all at once?"

Carlisle whips the car in a sudden U-turn, and I swear only half the wheels touch the pavement for some of it. If I thought Edward was driving dangerously before, it was nothing. This is something. This is the Indy 500.

"Jesus!" I whisper, shrinking into my seat.

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Carlisle says, but I can tell he's not mad at me. "Unless you're praying right now, which I highly advise."

I stare at the vampire next to me, and find hope in his determined expression, his overall air of competence. He'd have to be, I think, to lead such strong personalities as Edward and Rose, not to mention the sheer size of Emmett. I find myself following his order in spite of my doubts, and pray that whatever bond Carlisle Cullen has with the Volturi is enough to make a difference if Edward intends to do something crazy. Rosalie's voice echoes in my mind as I wonder what, exactly, his plan could be.

_What the hell are you doing, Edward?_

~oЖo~


	21. Faustian Bargaining

**Chapter 21: Faustian Bargaining**

**A/N: Thanks NelsonSmandela for the awesome beta, to Feisty and Algie for the usual, to ScarlettLetters and Giveusakiss413, and holy monkey, to so many of you for all the encouraging reviews and PMs. Check out the new playlist by reader EccentricShadow (thank you!) listed below the chapter music.**

**Chapter Music (youtube)**

**Schubert: Erlkonig**

**/watch?v=5XP5RP6OEJI**

**Durufle: Requiem – Libera me**

**/watch?v=03u4XS9aqE4**

**The Rolling Stones: Sympathy for the Devil**

**/watch?v=zuTiTfbfy7Q**

**And a new reader-created youtube playlist **

**(that makes at least two!) from EccentricShadow:**

**/view_play_list?p=503C3C538FC65EC9**

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyers owns all things Twilight. It's safe now.**

~oЖo~

"_He's lying," I insist. "Whatever's in that letter isn't for my father; it's for one of us. He just doesn't want you to read it now."_

"_What?" Carlisle demands, looking me in the eyes. "What makes you say that?"_

"_I can always tell when he's lying," I say. "Just read it, please."_

_He slows down a little as he opens the paper and reads it._

"Edward_," he growls. "How can my son be so bloody brilliant and so bloody stupid all at once?"_

_Carlisle whips the car in a sudden U-turn, and I swear only half the wheels touch the pavement for some of it. If I thought Edward was driving dangerously before, it was nothing. This is something. This is the Indy 500._

"_Jesus!" I whisper, shrinking into my seat._

"_Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Carlisle says, but I can tell he's not mad at me. "Unless you're praying right now, which I highly advise."_

Eventually the ice in my veins starts to melt, and I get the guts to pick up the letter from the center console where Carlisle dropped it. Clearly, this was meant for Carlisle.

"I can't read Latin," I say, frustrated. "What's he doing?"

His face looks calm and serious, like he's reading a hospital chart, but his lead foot says _worry, hurry, _and the car is going—huh, I've never seen a speedometer top out before. I have no idea how fast the car is going.

"Making disastrous assumptions," he says, without a trace of panic showing in his voice. "He seems to think that Demetri would be alone while tracking him. I was under the distinct impression he was going evade him, but he's going to try to confront him."

"You mean _fight_ him?" I ask, confused. "What good will that do, if they're both immortal?"

"We're _potentially_ immortal, Bella," he says, his eyes flickering over to me briefly. "We can be destroyed. But he's assuming too much about what he's up against. I doubt Demetri is alone, and some of the guard can conceal their thoughts."

"Jane," I whisper, horrified, thinking about what Rose told me. "Edward didn't sense the presence of other vampires at the opera, but Aro and Jane were there. Renata complained that she wasn't allowed to go, but Aro told her it was because Jane could control her thoughts."

"He really said that?" he asks, sounding truly shocked and hurt. "Aro would deliberately do that to my son?"

My heart breaks a little bit, seeing the betrayal register in his earnest eyes, like a dark cloud blocking out the sun. I've only known him for all of two minutes, but I already feel like I can trust him, and I think I would feel like that even if I hadn't known Edward or read his diaries. How could anyone betray this man? It seems totally inconceivable, like kicking a cute little puppy or slapping a baby. I feel a white hot outrage chasing away my fears. I've never felt anger like this before, and it's weird—unbearable and comforting all at once. Comforting because it makes me feel strong, and unbearable because I can do absolutely nothing about it for the moment.

"I'm sorry, but yes. He said that." I tell him reluctantly.

His eyes flash to mine, like he doesn't believe me at first, but I guess the look in my eyes convinces him. He gets this look on his face that must come in very handy when the ambulance rolls around, because I feel like he knows what he's doing, and it makes the icy fist in my stomach unclench a little.

"Bella, I know you don't know me that well, but I know how the Volturi operate," he says. "I need you to tell me everything that happened with Aro. Leave nothing out."

~oЖo~

I do tell him everything, at least pertaining to Aro and the rest of the Volturi. When it comes to what happened after, I hesitate. The indecision weighs heavily, but he questions me like a lawyer and makes me repeat my story so many times we don't have time for much else. I just hope I've done the right thing.

"So the invitation, you're sure it said _Come as you are, especially Miss Swan_?" he asks as we pull up to the hotel valet parking. He looks as troubled as Edward had when he first read the invitation

"That I'm sure about," I confirm, getting out to walk quickly behind him. "Because Edward got really upset about that part. Why is that so horrible?"

"It implies bad faith, Bella," he says gravely. "Bad faith from Edward, and, more subtly, from Aro. It's not the way these things are handled."

We stop at the front desk, where Carlisle asks a slight, tidy-looking man for Aro.

"There's a guest list, and only one name unaccounted for," the clerk states archly, raising his eyebrows at my semi-disheveled state. "Do you have identification?"

I pull my ID out and show it to him, and he checks it a little too long. Carlisle takes the card back from him with a glare that makes the smaller man's face turn pale.

"It's the penthouse," he says, handing me a key with a shaking hand. "Use this in the elevator; it'll take you right up."

"How much trouble is he in?" I ask, fear snaking up my spine as I jam the key in the lock under the round button marked _PH_.

"That depends," he says, as the elevator starts to ascend. "Are you sure about this? You don't have to come with me."

"I'm coming," I say, my jaw locking into place in spite of the creepy-crawly feeling. "I was invited. I'm on the list, remember?"

"Edward's going to want to kill me," he says, hesitating. "It's better for him if you're there. It's dangerous for you, but very brave. Ultimately, it's your call, Bella."

"I'm all in," I say resolutely.

Carlisle looks at me with concern, then nods. As soon as he does, I start to panic. The lights indicate we're nearing the top, and my stomach clenches again. I feel the blood pounding in my ears, and I feel like I'm about to do something really stupid, like run into a burning building.

_Are metaphors really necessary right now, Bella? You're about to run into a room full of vampires, isn't that bad enough? _the really jackassy part of my brain chimes in.

I think I might faint until I feel Carlisle's arm around my shoulders, calm and steadying.

"Courage," he whispers softly to me, giving me a gentle squeeze.

It helps, at least for a moment.

We hear a man howling in pain before the elevator door opens, and it's all the courage I need. Every fear melts into rage again as I run to him, barely noticing anyone else in the room. Edward hunches over, on the ground, his face contorted very much like Jasper's had been, screaming in much the same way. I fall to my knees at his side and do my best to shield him, for whatever good it will do. I find myself mindlessly repeating most of what Alice said upon finding Jasper in the same condition.

"I'm here, Edward," I cry, kissing his face, breathing in his scent.

I need to know he's here as well, and it seems as if the body in my arms is just barely proof of that, because he isn't really here. He can't see me at all, but he does respond to my touch. He stops screaming as soon as my lips meet his cool skin, but his eyes remain unfocused, his body convulsing as though he's getting viciously beaten by an invisible force. He inhales deeply and screams my name.

I feel so helpless, and angry, so ineffective. I wish I were a vampire already, so I could shield him, however that works. I look up and take in the scene around me, and it stops me cold.

Seven vampires, not five.

Including Carlisle and Edward, I'm surrounded by nine vampires, half of them staring at me with surprised fascination. Renata glares at me from just behind Aro, her hand resting on his shoulder.

Two unfamiliar male vampires stand on either side of Aro. They seem somehow older, like Aro—not as humans but as vampires. Something about the skin and eyes seems more like parchment and marble than flesh and viscera. The one on his right seems contemptuous in his surprise, with a face like a snobby butler who can't believe what the master has allowed in. The other one, a vampire changed closer to mid-life, I think, seems to be looking at Edward and me with a strange, understated intensity. His surprise seems genuine, rather than judgmental. I have no idea who they could be, but the third unfamiliar male takes a few steps to stand next to Carlisle, making me think he might be the one they called Eleazar. Three against six now, if you don't include me, and I'm certain nobody does.

_If only Rose and Emmett could be here_, I think desperately.

Jane stands away from the rest, her enraptured gaze fixed on Edward as he convulses on the marble tiles.

Demetri is another story altogether. My skin prickles as I meet Demetri's gaze. There's something there that I can't really describe, except that it's kind of pissed off and hungry, and it reminds me of Jake looking at cars he knows he can't afford.

"Do you think you can find her now that she's standing right in front of you?" laughs Aro, watching us stare at each other.

I shiver, and draw even closer to Edward. I close my eyes and focus on the world in my arms, quivering mess that he is.

"Caius and Marcus now, too?" Carlisle asks, looking every bit the outraged father. "Aro, what is the meaning of this?"

"I could ask you the same question, Carlisle. Have you not taught Edward the one rule we abide by? It is your duty as his sire," he replies, losing all traces of amusement. "Do not mistake our friendship as an excuse to flout the law."

"The law, is it? This does indeed look like a trial, and I'm not even on the _guest list_, let alone informed of the matter?" Carlisle says, the hurt showing on his face. "And all the while I'm doing a favor for you out of friendship? Can you at least stop torturing my son so we can discuss this as civilized men?"

"Since you have produced the witness in question, I can grant your wish, Carlisle. Jane, you may stop," Aro says, appearing every bit a sober judge. "After all, she is finally here as requested."

Jane's smile fades, and Edward relaxes in my arms, before jolting upright. He stands, pulling me into his arms, as if to shield _me_ now.

"Bella, no!" Edward rasps, looking at me with fear and desperation. "Why are you here? I wanted you to be safe. Carlisle?" he asks, glaring at his father.

Carlisle looks at him apologetically, and for a beat too long. I feel, rather than see Edward turn his head slightly to the left, perhaps as a subtle _no_ to some unspoken question.

"He knows the rules. What makes you think he broke them?" Carlisle demands, turning back to Aro.

"Your _son_ refuses to cooperate with my simple request for clarification with regard to the one rule we enforce," Aro says, his expression guarded and suspicious. "He won't shake my hand, nor was he willing to bring her here. What am I supposed to think?"

"What is _Edward_ supposed to think?" Carlisle replies, bewildered. "He's just trying to protect Bella. Had you let me introduce you properly, instead of surprising him with a visit and a summons, you would have met with a completely different reaction, I'm sure."

Six vampires glare at Carlisle at once, but he seems completely unaffected by it, his face calm and sternly reproving. He reminds me of Atticus Finch in _To Kill a Mockingbird_, bravely defending an innocent from an angry mob. I feel my heart nearly leap out of my chest with gratitude and love for him.

"I do not believe she doesn't know about us," Aro states flatly. "She knows, and he clearly has no intention of obeying the rules. Anyone can see they are attached to each other. If he wanted to change her, that would be one thing. But he instead deliberately tried to conceal her from us. That is a problem."

"That isn't true," Carlisle says. "Bella may have her suspicions, but Edward has been responsible. We have been discussing her change, should she choose Edward over a normal life. It's a delicate matter, and you have been foremost in our minds while dealing with it."

I open my mouth to speak, but Carlisle warns me off with a stern look.

"It was your approach, Aro," Carlisle continues. "He clearly felt threatened, and from the looks of it, he had some reason to. If you don't believe me, touch my hand."

"My approach is immaterial, my good friend," Aro says, his tone a clear warning over the friendly words. "And I am not concerned with your word, but with his."

"Aro," interrupts the older-looking vampire to his left, reaching his hand out slightly. "You should see this."

Aro lifts his hand, and gasps in shock a moment after contact.

"Remarkable. Thank you, Marcus," he says. "A complication indeed. Your Edward and the human are well and truly mated, Carlisle, did you know that?"

A chorus of pretty gasps fills the room, echoing the shock in my own mind. I feel completely naked.

"Nice," Demetri says, a sly smile on his lips.

Fury and mortification have a fistfight in my belly, sending my pulse racing. It occurs to me that a racing pulse in a room full of vampires isn't going to help anything.

"Edward!" Carlisle whispers harshly. "You're not married yet! How could you do that to Bella?"

"We're engaged," Edward whispers back, scowling. "Effectively handfast, Carlisle."

Aro laughs and shakes his head, and I stare at the floor, feeling my cheeks burn. I think Carlisle's way more upset than my own father would be.

I think.

"Why would anyone want to do that with a human?" Renata scoffs. "When he could have any vampire he wanted?"

"I do it all the time," Demetri says conversationally. "The heat can be remarkably pleasurable. But there's no way she's _la sua cantante_. It takes too much control not to kill them in _ordinary_ circumstances."

_La sua cantante? The hell?_ Despair and confusion join in, and it's an out-and-out brawl in my stomach. I can only take one thing at a time, so I'm going with confusion for the moment. _His singer?_ What is it with him and my singing? Maybe it's not up to Demetri's standards, not that he's ever _really_ heard me sing… Edward growls, angling himself so that Demetri can no longer see me.

Demetri laughs. I shudder.

"The physical act, perhaps as an appetizer, but to truly mate?" Renata objects. "They are not equals, how can he?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers quietly in my ear, and I lean my head on his shoulder.

"The whole thing is beyond surprising, Renata," Aro agrees. "But it's stranger than that. She is, in fact, his singer as well."

"What are they talking about?" I ask Edward in a whisper. "Is this about music?"

A fresh chorus of murmurs erupts in the room.

"Edward never told you that you are his singer?" Aro asks, walking toward me.

He stops when Edward tenses up and draws me impossibly closer, like he wants to encase me. I can barely see over his arms.

"How could I possibly tell her that without breaking the rule?" Edward demands incredulously.

"What is he talking about?" I ask, drawing away from him enough to look into his eyes.

"Edward has remarkable restraint," Carlisle says with some pride, then pauses, glancing at me. "_Usually_."

"Carlisle, you are the strangest vampire I've ever met—the outrage is there, but always for the wrong reason!" Aro laughs. "You see, there. Bella ought to look surprised when I use the word vampire, when I talk about many of these things in fact, but she does not. This is a problem."

My head jerks up, too late. Aro's eyes shine with triumph, and Jane starts to get all excited again. Carlisle can't stop me from talking this time.

"Like Carlisle said, I had my suspicions, but Edward didn't tell me anything," I say, furious. "If it hadn't been for Demetri I wouldn't have suspected anything close to the truth. Why not blame him instead?"

"Demetri, unlike your _mate_, was acting according to his nature," he replies calmly, as if explaining something to a very stupid child. "How much did Edward even attempt to conceal from you?"

"Everything," I say softly, flinching from the memory. "He lied to me. We've never talked about vampires."

_Until Renata changed Jasper, _I think. But I don't think I owe them that.

Edward stiffens, and I look up at him. I wish we could speak without everyone hearing us. I wish he could read my mind, as he can everyone else's. Well, unless you count Aro and Jane, whose minds aren't as silent as they are sneaky, perhaps. I manage to smile a little, trying to tell him with my eyes and expression that I love him and trust him.

"You two seem to have gotten past it," Aro observes, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wonder how that happened. Demetri, please tell Bella exactly what it means for a vampire to find his singer."

I can just feel the anger rolling off of Edward in waves, and it makes me sick. Well, it's hard to tell what's making me sick at this point, but I'm pretty sure that Aro's little games rank pretty high in the mix.

"_Il cantante_, it is a gift of nature, one human out of many billions—and usually a vampire finds only one singer over the course of many human lifetimes, if ever," Demetri explains silkily.

I refuse to look at him, keeping my eyes on Edward's. He looks … ashamed. Apologetic.

"It is the blood that sings, you see, Bella," he continues, in what might, in other circumstances, sound like a seductive tone. "It smells so good, so tempting, that nobody can resist it, like the siren's song in mythology. When a vampire finds his singer, he must consume her blood, or the obsession consumes him. He will stop at nothing until it is done. It will drive him mad if he does not, and when he does finally take and consume it is the most satisfying blood he will ever taste."

I remember now, him referring to me as his singer while talking to Carlisle in French. How he had to hunt more, but he could control himself. I'm reminded of something he once said to me just before he let me think I was crazy, about how I was the exception to everything for him: silent, his singer, and something about my scent. It all makes a little more sense now, if it's true. And nobody's contradicting Demetri, so it must be.

"That must have been difficult for you," I whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Don't ever be sorry; I'm not," he admits softly to me. "You're so much more than that now. Resisting your blood was difficult at first, it's true. Had I not abstained for so long it might very well have been impossible."

"Enough! The law was broken," Caius interrupts. "There must be a trial. There must be punishment."

"I'm willing—just change me!" I say loudly, frustrated. "You don't have to do that."

Aro stares at me as though I've just done something horribly, horribly wrong. So do most of the vampires. Carlisle puts his hand on my shoulder comfortingly, and I scowl down at the floor, blushing. It's ridiculous, but I feel embarrassed, like I just cursed in church or something.

"No!" Edward whispers. "Not yet. You need more time to know what you're doing."

"What is this?" Aro says indignantly. "You act as if it's a curse, instead of a great gift, to be immortal, to be strong like us. To be _godlike_. You would rather be one of them? Like cattle?"

Edward doesn't say anything, but his eyes speak volumes. The tension in the room takes on definition, with Carlisle and Eleazar now seeming as silently defiant as Edward.

"Perhaps some time with real vampires, living in true civilization as we ought to, and not scurrying about after the scraps of humans as Carlisle has taught you," Aro intones. "Perhaps some time serving under the Volturi guard will make you understand the rules."

"What do you mean?" Carlisle asks, dangerously calm.

He reminds me so much of Edward, I'd almost think they were biologically related.

"You know what it means, Carlisle," Edward says. "You just never truly thought your friend was capable of it before."

"One or two vampires going their own way doesn't bother me, Carlisle," Aro says, his face stony and emotionless. "But to see a talented vampire like Edward, so clearly in love with a talented human and not want to change her—why, it's heartbreaking. He is confused. I seek only to help him."

"No," Edward says quietly. "No guard. We will not live as you live."

Aro's expression reminds me of Caesar and all the other Roman emperors: deadly serious, and full of authority. I kind of want the playful Aro back. This one scares the crap out of me even more than the playful one.

"You misunderstand me, boy," Aro says, a hard glint to his narrowing black eyes. "This isn't a choice. This is rehabilitation."

"What happened to the freedom for each vampire to choose?" Eleazar dares to ask. "This isn't how we do things, Aro."

"Many choices have already been made," Aro replies calmly. "I am very generously providing an alternative to punishment. That is how we do things, when we so desire."

"So it's trial and destruction, or becoming a member of the guard?" Carlisle asks, eyes narrowed. "This does not sound like justice to me. It sounds like forced servitude."

"You are a doctor to humans, Carlisle," Caius laughs, a hard, brittle sound. "You are hardly qualified to object to the judgment of Volterra. But if you'd rather take the trial, I'm more than amenable."

The Volturi begin to murmur furiously amongst each other until Aro silences them with a single gesture. Carlisle and Eleazar draw closer to us, their bodies along with Edwards shifting subtly towards a defensive crouch.

Disturbingly and fittingly, requiem lyrics spring to mind: _Libera eas de ore leonis._ Free us from the jaws of the lion. Once again, following Carlisle's advice, I just go with it, and keep repeating it in my mind. I let the whole chorus play, with the absurd idea that I can't die if the music hasn't finished. Thinking of this makes me think of music, and everything good that's slipping away.

"I guess this means no fellowship in Volterra," I mutter under my breath, fighting the crazy urge to laugh, because it's such a stupid thing to think at a moment like this. Louder, to Carlisle and Eleazar I whisper, in a panic now. "Don't sacrifice yourselves for me, please. There's no point in all of us going if I'm going to die anyway. You're so beautiful, so good-- please don't risk yourselves on my account."

"So beautiful, so good … so talented," Aro murmurs. "I quite agree, Bella. One would hate to waste it."

I close my eyes against impending doom, wanting to shut out everything but Edward in my last moments, if it has come to this. I feel Edward's body relax infinitesimally, his posture elongate just a bit. When I open my eyes, he's staring intently at Aro, who stares intently back, and everyone else stares at both of them in various states of confusion and curiosity.

"Perhaps we can come to a compromise," Aro says, "After all, I feel that young Edward here does not know what he gives up when he refuses the honor of joining the guard. And Isabella shows promise in many areas. Perhaps there is a better way to make this charming young couple understand the difference between a golden opportunity and a curse."

"What do you mean, Aro?" Caius asks curiously. "Is this another one of your bargains?"

"I don't see why they shouldn't come to Volterra as originally planned," he replies, "Provided they agree to a few conditions?"

"We might agree to that," Edward says after a significant silence. "Depending on your terms."

"Aro, a word?" Caius demands more than asks. "In private."

"You have no privacy from Edward, I don't think," Aro says, a small, dangerous smile playing on his face. "That is my point. Use your imagination, Caius. How the Volturi could benefit from Edward's talents. What one might be able to do with his range. The possibilities are staggering. Don't you agree, Marcus?"

"Now that you mention it, yes." Marcus replies, looking like someone not interested in anything, until everyone turns back to stare at Edward and me. Then his eyes flash angrily, just for a second. I think I might have even imagined it.

"You may as well speak freely," Aro laughs. "Isn't that right, Edward?"

"Some of you have more control over your thoughts than others," Edward replies bitterly, glancing between Aro and Jane.

His gaze falls briefly on Marcus, but then he quickly looks back at Aro.

"This is my point," Caius seethes. "I am not sure the Volturi need another mind-reader. I would prefer to have a trial and be done with it."

"Very well, we'll let Marcus decide," Aro says, to Caius' apparent frustration. "Marcus, what say you to a continuation of the original plan, with one stipulation, as befits Edward's transgression?"

"Your artistic arrangements are null and void now!" Caius cries, potentially interrupting a rather unenthusiastic-looking Marcus.

"Have I once denied you a painter? A sculptor?" Aro asks, turning to Caius. "This is quite possibly a unique opportunity for the Opera world."

I look at Edward again, his face carefully composed and his attention riveted on Marcus.

"Always with the music, and with opera most of all," Caius complains. "It won't work out. You're too finicky—Callas was too fat; then her voice lost something when she lost weight. George was too ambitious as a human and didn't want to risk—"

"_Basta!_" Aro hisses, and my few weeks' worth of Italian lessons tell me that means he's not a happy camper. "_Chiudi quella cazzo di bocca! Ipocrita! Niente è mai abbastanza buono per voi e per voi sempre votazione per la distruzione!_"

Okay, I have no idea what that means, but everyone else in the room seems to, and in spite of the hand-waving and yelling in Italian and—I think Latin, too?—they all seem kind of bored or annoyed, like this goes on all the time.

I barely hear the bickering continuing between Aro and Caius as something silent and largely unnoticed passes between Marcus and Edward.

"Edward," Carlisle whispers warningly. Apparently I'm not the only one paying attention to this.

"Yes, Carlisle, I hear you," he replies, not taking his eyes off of Marcus until Aro suddenly turns away from Caius.

"Enough of this old argument," he says, eyes still blazing with fury. "We're here to discuss a different matter entirely. Marcus, what is your vote?"

"I vote for your more artistic plan," Marcus says, appearing bored. "So long as you let me have that novelist."

"You should have changed Umberto Eco decades ago if you wanted him," Aro sighs. "But if he agrees to it, fine. He'll probably keep writing nonfiction just to spite you. Perhaps he'll pick up the pace as a vampire. I waited entirely too long in between _The Name of the Rose _and _Foucault's Pendulum._"

I can't believe my ears. A moment ago we were about to die and now we're going to just go to Volterra as planned? Somehow, this isn't right. The story of Faust and his bargain with Mephistopheles comes to mind. Also Grandma Swan's favorite saying, _the devil is in the details._

"What's the catch?" I whisper to Edward.

"The _catch,_ young Isabella," answers Aro, as if I had asked the question of him, "is that you will proceed as planned, at my pleasure. As a _singer_, of course, Edward, no need to get all riled up. I will not interfere with your romance, except of course as it pertains to the timing of Miss Swan's conversion. Since you are in no rush to change her, you won't mind if she waits a few years? You won't mind, since you have such amazing control, eh, Edward?"

_Years! _I don't know whether I'm relieved or frustrated. On one hand, after what I've seen in the last 24 hours, Edward may have a point about the pain. On the other, being in a room of pissed-off vampires would be a lot less terrifying if I was one myself. Then again, Charlie and Renee… I can agree to wait a few years.

"I still want to mold her career, you see," Aro explains. "Now more than ever. I've always wanted to see how it would be to change a gifted singer into a vampire, what would happen, how I could share that sound with the world. I've never had that chance before."

"No, there was that one tenor, Alfo—" Caius begins, only to be immediately interrupted by Aro.

"I told you never to speak his name again!" he shouts, the tendons on his neck standing out.

A glass vase cracks on the table at the incredibly loud sound of Aro's outburst, and I'm insanely jealous. I've sung at wine glasses for hours trying to make them break, but they never freakin' do. This guy "Alfo" must have really done something bad to make him this upset, and who knows how long ago that was?

Several of the elder vampires look a little uncomfortable, Carlisle included. Edward looks at him questioningly, and I get his _I'll tell you later_ face, but I think I got the message loud and clear: don't be an Alfo, whatever he did.

"Now, to continue," Aro says calmly as though he didn't just go wonky on us. "You will be taking instruction from me, as well as your regular voice teacher. I want to monitor your progress every week. You _will_ improve according to my standards, or we will revisit this matter, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I say, loud enough for it to carry.

"Good. Dr. George has described your ability to absorb instruction very quickly, so do not delay, or I will know about it," he warns. "Shield or no. When I am satisfied with your progress, we will launch your career, first as a human. When I am satisfied with your beginning, we will stage the first accident. The newspapers will report that you will be recovering from a horrifying accident, but you will in fact be a newborn. When you have learned some control over yourself in your new incarnation, we will launch your real opera career. When it ends, it will happen also at my pleasure. Then comes the second, final accident. Then you will have to hide your identity from humans indefinitely. Do you understand?"

I look between Edward and Carlisle with alarm. They seem a little wary.

"I'm not sure I do," I say, stalling. "You did say I can stay with Edward, right?"

"Yes, child," Aro sighs, "You may stay with your beloved Edward. So long as you act in good faith of our agreement."

"I don't have to—" I hesitate, not wanting to offend these monsters, "What I mean is that I wouldn't have to kill people, would I?"

The Volturi exchange glances.

"You wouldn't _have_ to," Aro says, again like to a dumb kid. "But you can if you find you'd prefer to."

"I know you don't like handling newborns in Volterra," Carlisle says, stepping forward. "I would be happy to take responsibility for Bella in that year."

"I'm sure you would, Carlisle," Aro responds dryly. "And while I am inclined to take advantage of your masochistic tendencies, I'm also not thrilled with your evangelism."

It's not a yes, but's not a no, either.

"I would agree," Edward says, "and I think Bella might too, so long as we can stay with Carlisle during Bella's first year, somewhere remote, away from humans, and we're not expected to hunt humans."

"Not a problem for me," Aro says evenly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's nothing to me if you wish to deprive yourselves, provided you and Isabella agree to spend one evening a week as guests of the Volturi, in order to both monitor her progress first-hand, and show you what it means to be one of us."

"Given that," Carlisle interjects, ignoring the many glares aimed in his direction. "You will conform to precedent, and let Edward and Bella choose to join the guard … or not, after the arrangement has been fulfilled?"

Aro, Marcus, and Caius exchange glances again. Marcus nods slowly, and Caius shrugs a little testily, more in surrender than agreement.

"I think we have an agreement," Aro says, narrowing his eyes at Carlisle, and turning back to Edward and me. "We will not force you to conform to our way of life. But when you see the benefits of true civilization among equals, I doubt you will continue to emulate your … _father_, good and patient creature that he is. Isabella Swan, do you agree?"

It sounds too easy, and weirdly formal.

It sounds like a deal with Mephistopheles. With the devil. But my choice isn't just to take it or leave it. My other choice is death.

I look at Edward and Carlisle, who both nod at me with grave expressions. I know that if there was any choice in the matter, they wouldn't urge me to take it. I just wish I knew what the cost will be.

Then I think of Alice, and how she told me that we would be best friends forever. I look at Edward again, and I know that no price is too high, if I can be with him.

"Yes, I agree," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, and failing.

"Very well then," Aro says, looking thoroughly satisfied. "I expect you at midsummer, and I'll know how to find you if you don't show up. You may go now."

~oЖo~

In the elevator I wait for it all to hit me, but everything just seems surreal.

No tears, no hysterics, no nothing. I'm just floating away from myself like a helium balloon, and I don't know if I'm coming back.

I can feel Edward's arm around my waist, Carlisle's hand on my shoulder, someone's kiss in my hair.

"You should have told me sooner, Son," Carlisle says, his arms tight around Edward's shoulders. "I could have told you what to expect. I had no idea they would do that. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"What made you turn around?" Edward asks. His voice sounds like it's coming from very far away. "I was sure you wouldn't read it."

"Bella convinced me you were lying," Carlisle says. His voice sounds a little tinny to me, like he's on a really old record player. "Are you losing your touch? Or is it just her?"

I pay no more attention to them than I would a television program running in another room. I feel cold prickles on my face as my vision blurs slightly. Is this my life now? Sing well, or die? Change or die? Just hours ago I was so jealous of Alice; now that the choice has been taken away from me, I'm finally starting to wonder what it is I've done.

Mephistopheles can't win all the time. Can he?

"Are you okay, Bella?" Edward says, taking my chin in his hand and tilting my face up.

His eyes.

Black, like ink, like writing in beautiful penmanship from another time, forming words that make perfect sense.

Eyes that say _I love you. I need you. Come back to me._

Eyes like gravity, pulling me back, holding me in one piece.

I float back to myself, and thread my fingers through his.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "As long as you're with me."

He stares at me for a second like I've lost my mind, and then his arms wrap around my waist, almost too tight. Like a promise. Like he'll never let me go.

I wind my arms around his neck, and hold on just as tight.

The elevator door opens, and we step out into the exhilarating night air. It's the most delicious air I've ever tasted, and I gulp at it like a fish returning to water. I feel soft and more alive than I've ever felt. Every star in the sky—the few I can see in the city, anyway—they all seem like bonus prizes, like I shouldn't even be able to see them, and they're so beautiful. I thought I knew how beautiful they are, but I didn't. I'd spin in circles taking it all in if Edward didn't have a near-death grip on my hand.

"I can't believe we made it out of there," I say, panting and giddy, reminding myself of Alice. "That was close, wasn't it? Did they really let us go? Just like that? It doesn't make any sense, angry as he was. Do I want to know? I don't want to know, do I? They're not going to change their minds are they?"

"They did let us go," Carlisle says, after seeing Edward's nod of confirmation. "But they can find us whenever they want, and they will hold you to your word."

I look up at Edward, then at Carlisle, and back at Edward again. From their expressions, I can tell my fears were well-founded. The giddy feeling fades a bit, but I still feel incredible. I want to go mountain climbing or something. Probably not the best time for it.

"Come on, let's go," Edward says, pressing his nose into my hair and inhaling deeply. "Carlisle thinks we have a lot to talk about."

Carlisle gives him some parental stink-eye, so I'm pretty sure we're in for one hell of a lecture. Little does he know, _he_ is in for some new kids. As crazy as it sounds, I can't wait to tell him about it. I nestle myself under Edward's arm and reach for Carlisle in gratitude. His stern eyes soften as he takes my outstretched hand. I hope he can stay long enough to meet Charlie. I have a feeling they'll get on well.

"Let's go home," I say, feeling the blood racing in my veins, as if it could get us home any faster.

~oЖo~

**A/N: What the monkey was Aro saying to Caius in Italian? Accurate and wild guesses welcome. The best interpretations (and by best I mean most creative, not necessarily most accurate) may get posted in a special outtake. People who correct my Italian get to be smug when I covertly correct my mistakes. **

**Speaking of outtakes- MsKathy has requested a Jalice after-party outtake from the Holiday Mixer. Interested parties may want to subscribe to the Canzone outtake doohickeybobber. Or Author alerts whatevs. More outtakes coming eventually, is all I'm saying.**


	22. The Devil in the Details

**Chapter 22:****The Devil in the Details **

**A/N: I'm sorry about the long break, both with posting and replying to reviews. My work life went into overdrive for a while (good things all) but stole my writing time. I appreciate all the encouragement and patience. While this was in beta, I wrote a little outtake from Chapter 7. If you've been worrying about Jasper and Alice, it's a look back at some of their wild monkey-love from their human days. Go checks it oot if you want.**

**Thank you, beta NelsonSmandela, and my musicfuckers, Algie and Feisty. Also thanks to ScarlettLetters, for previewing, dastardly plotting and sanity checks.**

**Chapter Music (youtube)**

**Satie, Gnossienne #4**

**/watch?v=tJQGM3MfqmI**

**Holst: Neptune, the Mystic (from The Planets)**

**/watch?v=c0i7advgnUk**

**Disclaimer: Yada, yada, Yoda. not mine **

~oЖo~

I sit at Edward's piano, playing the same chord over and over.

Even though this exercise is technically on my list of things to practice for Music Theory over the coming week, it's kind of therapeutic to play how I feel. Though I feel better—what with the shower and clean clothes and lack of imminent demise hanging over my head—this kind of fear doesn't wash away as easily as the pine needles in my hair, or the dust in my clothes.

My hands seem to move on their own, gently rolling out the notes of the disturbingly dissonant structure. While my hands do their thing I have time to watch a single drop of water getting thicker as it slowly slides down a curve of my still-wet hair. It's got me hypnotized, just the movement of it as it builds momentum, then seems to hover forever at the end, and then finally takes the leap to splash on a key, as if it wants to add to the chord. I play that note, too, and think would fit right into a horror movie. Fitting, like the music when the girl is unknowingly in the house with the monster and she, like a moron, decides to take a shower. Of course, I knowingly let the vampire into the shower with me, but when Edward Cullen starts unbuttoning his shirt, _monster_ isn't the word that pops into your head_. _And when his eyes sparkle when he tells you that your hair has pine needles in it and promises to get them all out, you don't protest when he follows you into the bathroom. That would involve very different music.

But that was an hour ago, and I'm anxious again, so we've got the creepy chord. Actually, I'm playing two chords, identical except for a half note in the middle. My index fingers hit a black key, then down to the neighboring white, then black again, but all the other notes remain the same. The difference is, one chord sounds like an oncoming train, and the other sounds like a tornado. I'm trying to remember which is the half diminished and which is the fully diminished, and whether a train or a tornado would be the one to fully diminish something. Odd as this sounds, it's exactly the kind of wackadoo memorization tip that Jasper said would work, and damned if it doesn't. The weirder the association, the better for memory, actually.

Jasper. His name feels like a constant alarm in the back of my mind.

I can't stop thinking about him and, of course, Alice. The thought of both of them looking as they did in the cave snakes through my mind, down through my nervous system and splinters my ribcage, the guilt spreading like weeds in the cracks. He and Alice are somewhere, probably still riding in the back of that jeep, twitching and moaning in horrible agony through their warm scarves. Who knows what they'll think when they wake up? I know I won't be able to relax until I've heard from them, or about them. And even then, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to completely relax again. Maybe that part of my life is just over, or maybe I'll get used to this kind of unease, somehow.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I can't even decide which shoe it is.

Part of me expects seven angry vampires to come through the door or windows or whatever it is they do, having realized that they need to kill me after all. This is such an odd thought to have rattling around in my cranium that another part of me expects to wake up from a long, bizarre dream to find myself on the first day of school, and that vampires aren't real. But that would mean no Edward, and Edward is, by far, the most real thing that has ever happened to me.

Reality settles around me; I sense him before I feel him, the pain in my chest easing whether or not I deserve it.

Long, pale hands cover my own and still my hands from playing.

"Can't you at least play something else?" Edward asks, looking tortured. Mildly tortured, not _Jane_ tortured, that is. "Haven't we had enough unpleasantness for one day, Bella?"

_Good point._

I rest my head back against his chest and turn my head to breathe in his scent, to find my own actions mirrored in his inhalation, the gentle dip of his nose to my neck, as he breathes me in as well.

"You play," I sigh against him. "Show me what's going on in that beautiful head of yours."

"Beautiful," he laughs bitterly. "After the colossal errors in judgment made in this head today, that's the first word to come to mind to describe it?"

"Always. Anyway, it was just one colossal error, and we're okay now," I argue, turning to meet his gaze. "And you got Alice and Jasper out of here without Aro finding out anything."

"I had Alice to guide me," he says thoughtfully, his left hand slowly outlining a mysterious chord, minor in nature but far more pleasant than mine had been.

I rest my hands on his lightly and feel the subtle shifts as his hands move across the keys. It's an oddly compelling sensation, and very intimate, my fingers moving of his accord. I keep my arms and hands completely relaxed, and just let his motions move me. His right hand starts to play a melody, a 19th-century romantic idea of the Near East, if I'm guessing right. The combination of harmony and melody comes across as quaintly exotic, mysterious and thoughtful.

"Satie?" I ask.

"Indeed. So, read my mind," he says, a hint of a smile playing at the visible corner of his mouth. "What am I thinking?"

"Well, I didn't need the music to guess this, but you're probably figuring out how to win at Aro's game, whatever it is."

"Very good," he says, pausing briefly before going into another piece I've heard before, but never on the piano. I've only heard it with a full orchestra and choir. "Now what do you think I'm planning?"

"That's a hint?" I ask, trying to place the eerie, pretty music. It makes me think of stars and floating through space. "Holst? One of the planets?"

"_Neptune_," he says. "And what does that make you think of?"

"_Star Wars_?"

He gives me a dirty look, and I laugh for what I think must be the first time since seeing Demetri after the opera. He stops playing and wraps his arms around me. I notice he sniffs my neck, and it reminds me of how just physically sensing him can calm me when everything else seems horrible.

"So, this 'singer' thing…" I prod.

He doesn't say anything, but he looks like he wants to.

"I think this 'singer' thing might be something of a two-way street," I murmur against his neck. "Your scent … it's intoxicating to me. It always has been."

"It might be a vampire thing," he says, his eyes tensing at the word _vampire_. "We're supposed to smell good to our prey."

This is new for us, speaking about it openly. He slides his hands underneath me and picks me up just long enough to reposition me on his lap. It's a little awkward when he starts to play again until I move my legs to straddle him so that our knees don't get in a traffic jam with the piano when he moves to work the pedals.

_Interesting._

"I know what you mean, but you're wrong," I say, looking up at him and making a mental note to try this again later, under different circumstances — like, with fewer articles of clothing. "I've now come into close proximity with several vampires, and while you all smell very good and sort of similar, it's not the same at all."

"I hate it that they've been that close to you," he says, his voice threaded with all the promise of a storm cloud.

"I know, but that's not what I mean. Your scent, it calls to me too. It's not just a vampire thing. It's a you-and-me thing."

He relaxes a bit, and turns me to face him, looking at me with something new—amazement, maybe—in his eyes.

"What is it?"

"I owe you an apology," he says, leaning his forehead to mine. "I've made certain assumptions about your emotions based on my own dim recollections of being human and what I hear in the minds of others. I thought you couldn't possibly feel a fraction of what I feel for you. I was wrong."

"What changed your mind?" If this means no more looking at me like I'm a baby panda, that's a very good thing.

He pauses, as if listening to something outside. "We'll have to continue this later."

I jump up and stiffen reflexively, and he gives me a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.

"It's just Carlisle," he apologizes. "I didn't mean to make you nervous."

Carlisle appears in the doorway as Edward opens it, seemingly unfazed by not having to knock. I guess he wouldn't be surprised by that.

"Bella," he says, taking in my post-shower appearance with what seems like a carefully blank expression. "It's good to see you've gotten comfortable."

I'm wearing one of Edward's big t-shirts and a clean pair of his soft cotton boxers. I don't even want to think of what my father would say if he saw me like this. At least Edward's hair has already dried. I feel my cheeks burn and remind myself that he could have seen a lot worse, had he come half an hour earlier when Edward and I were vigorously celebrating our continuing existence in the shower together.

"Hi Carlisle," I say shyly, trying to save face. "When will Esme's plane get in?"

I still have a shot at being completely dressed to meet one of Edward's "parents."

"Tomorrow morning. Don't worry, I'll call ahead from now on," Carlisle says, looking uncomfortable. "I'm just not used to having to give Edward as much warning as Rose and Emmett."

"I owe you _all_ many awkward entrances."

Edward's teasing smile doesn't seem embarrassed at all. It would be annoying if I hadn't read all the heart-crushing loneliness in his journals. It can't have been easy to be the only single vampire living with two pairs of lovers, especially when he's privy to every one of their thoughts. Edward has been the proverbial fifth wheel for decades.

"That you do," Carlisle says, his expression softening. "It's wonderful to see you look so peaceful for a change. We still need to talk."

Edward shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and it takes me a moment to realize they're having something of a silent conversation. I go into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea to give Edward and Carlisle a little more privacy. While the water heats I slip into the closet and change into some of my own clothes. When I come out, they're both smiling, and Edward holds his arms out to me in invitation. I sit next to him rather than on his lap.

"Sorry," he says, kissing my temple. I'm not sure if he's apologizing for the silent conversation or his wordless bid for a little more PDA than I'm comfortable displaying in front of Carlisle, given the circumstances. "You must have a lot of questions too."

"Definitely. Who was Alfo? Alfonso? Something like that?" I ask, thinking about the opera singer who angered Aro to the point that his very name had become a dirty word.

"That's your question?" Carlisle laughs. "After everything you saw today, that's the first thing you want to know?"

"I didn't know I was supposed to rank them in any kind of order," I mutter defensively. "But yes, I should know what he did so I don't follow his example."

Edward and Carlisle share a stunned look momentarily, and then clearly try to stifle a laugh at my expense.

"Hey, it's a legitimate request!"

"Bella," Edward says sweetly, "You don't have to worry about repeating Alfonso's mistake. It would be physically impossible."

_Impossible for a human, or impossible without man-parts?_ I'm about to ask when Carlisle shakes his head and holds up a hand, discouraging any further discussion on the subject. I can totally understand why Edward thinks of him as a father when they don't seem so many years apart in physical age. Carlisle is gorgeous, but he's got some serious Ward Cleaver vibes going on right now. _First Atticus Finch and now Ward Cleaver?_ Just how much Nick at Nite did Renee and I watch when I was growing up?

"I do have other questions," I say, wanting to change the subject in my own mind as well. "First of all, what did I really agree to in that room?"

"You didn't want to say yes," Edward recalls, nodding. "That really surprised Aro. Humans rarely ever hesitate to fall into his traps."

"I'm not sure I completely understand what happened in there," I admit. "It sounded too easy. I don't know why, but I wouldn't have agreed if you two hadn't encouraged me. It sounded almost exactly what we were planning to do anyway, but it just seemed … off, somehow."

"He makes it sound like something reasonable to get you to agree," Carlisle confirms. "But your intuition was correct. He'll hold out until he gets what he wants. He made it sound like two or three years, but if he really wants you in the guard, he'll wait as long as it takes to give permission for your change. He'll wait ten, twenty years, maybe even longer."

"Ten years!" I _knew_ there was a catch. "Why did you encourage me to say yes?"

"In my experience with Aro, you had little choice in the matter," Carlisle says in what I'm sure is his soothing "you have an incurable disease" voice.

"In your experience? You mean he's done this before?" I'm an idiot. Of course Aro's done this sort of thing before. _Faust _was probably a true story, based on one of his little bargains.

"Something very much like it, yes," Carlisle says, watching Edward closely.

Or maybe, _thinking_ something at him. I'm so used to Edward either not being able to read my mind or hiding it from everyone that it dawns on me that this is probably their habitual manner of speaking.

"He wants us too much," Edward says, I assume in response to a question. "He'll hold it over my head, try to get us to join the guard."

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" Carlisle asks, alarmed. "The guard—you don't want that, Edward. I can't think Bella would want that either. Their way of life—"

"No, and we won't have to join," Edward says confidently. "It won't come to that."

"Edward, I don't know what kind of understanding you think you have with Marcus," Carlisle frowns. "But you can't trust him. He was different tonight than I've ever seen him before, and he may have been lacking a certain fetter tonight that Aro almost always keeps around."

"Yes, the guard member called Chelsea," Edward confirms. "Aro's mind was ill at ease about her absence, particularly when it came to Marcus. I am interested in him, but I'm not counting on him for anything. He's already helped us as far as the vote and what he showed me."

"I'm confused," I admit. "What did Marcus show you, and when? Do all the Volturi have some extra talent?"

"Not all of them. Marcus sees the nature and intensity of relationships," Carlisle explains, kindly glossing over the _well and truly mated_ part. "Did you see how he sees them, Edward? I've always been curious about his perceptions."

"Marcus' mind was most unusual," Edward says, smiling at me, though answering his father's question. "His talent is visual in nature, like people who claim to see a person's aura. I saw ties between people, like chords of light, surrounded by faint glowing colors. I could see all of us, connected in ways that are usually perceptible intuitively, but invisible. It was truly fascinating. Separate from what he saw, I caught a few of his thoughts as well. Before you and Bella came, he thought of someone's name. Who is Didyme?"

"I think I need a chart," I say, raising my hand like a kindergartner. "I've officially lost track of names and special abilities."

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Edward says. "We've got plenty of time before we have to go there. I'll need to know everything you know about the Volturi, all the history possible."

"Of course I will help you in whatever way I can," Carlisle promises grimly. "But I don't think you fully appreciate how dangerous it is to try to thwart Aro. Edward, you are brilliant and talented, but so is he, and he's nearly three thousand years older than you."

_Three thousand years old?_ Jebus. No, actually older than that.

"What is it that you see in him, Carlisle?" Edward asks curiously. "Your thoughts of him have always been tinged with admiration and wariness, and you call him friend."

"That's a very good way to describe my feelings toward him. I've known him for three hundred years, and he never ceases to fascinate me. He's brilliant and can be quite funny. He has impeccable taste in music."

"That is true," I concede, and I'm surprised to realize that seeing him for weekly lessons does have an artistic and intellectual appeal to me.

"He is truly a product of Ancient Roman civilization, both formal and brutal, enigmatic and crystal clear by turns. His mind—his will, the force of his nature—has an inevitable quality to it. But most of all, he's unpredictable."

"Clearly." Edward says. "I've never read a mind so controlled. His immediate reactions weren't quite as controlled, however."

Again, Edward pauses, and looks at Carlisle in surprise.

"You asked Eleazar to meet us here?" he asks, going to the door.

"Of course, Edward, he's one of us."

The tall, dark vampire who stood with us against the Volturi appears on the other side, and the men embrace like old friends.

"Eleazar, I'm glad you're here," Carlisle says warmly. "I'm just trying to explain to Edward precisely what it means when Aro wants something."

"Yes, and it seems right now he wants your son and this charming young lady for his guard. As the only member of the guard to ever leave and remain in existence, I can assure you that it is a delicate matter, indeed."

Eleazar smiles grimly as Edward formally introduces us. It doesn't feel weird at all. Taking my right hand gently between his, Eleazar gives me a genuine smile.

"I regret the way we met earlier, Isabella" he says, with the faintest trace of a Spanish accent. "I hope that you will believe me when I say that my presence with the Volturi does not indicate my support for their actions. When Aro invited me to Seattle to help him, I had no idea what he was up to."

"On the contrary, your presence was comforting," I assure him. "I overheard Aro talking about you with Demetri and Renata after the opera, and they mentioned your … humanitarianism, among other things. I was actually quite relieved when I realized who you were."

"Oh, so _you_ heard about what I did during the opera," he says quietly, looking between Edward and me speculatively.

Edward's face registers a fleeting moment of surprise, then relief, and he embraces Eleazar again with a barely audible "Thank you."

I warm my hands on the cup in front of me, trying to decide how I feel about all these half-conversations. It's so weird to see Edward with all these people who know he can read their minds. It would almost be worth it to have one of those conversations. Almost. Maybe if I could control what he hears, then it would be kind of handy.

Carlisle, undoubtedly more accustomed to this sort of thing, all but misses this brief exchange, and glances at the two curiously as he sets up Edward's chess set. Except he's set up all the white pieces and only a few black pieces. One knight and five pawns. I've played enough chess with Billy Black to know this is a hell of an illustration of an imbalance of power.

"Nobody will play chess with Edward," Carlisle explains to me. "Because he always knows what moves they're planning to make. The only way to play Edward is to either mask your thoughts, or play with no strategy."

"Maybe someday we can play, Bella," Edward suggests, smiling at me as I sip my tea. "It will be nice to play with someone whose mind I can't read. I've always wondered if I'm actually any good. It's hard to tell when you've got a built-in cheating system."

"That's exactly my point, Edward," Carlisle says. "You've never had an opponent with any meaningful advantages, and Aro has spent three thousand years building and defending his. You should play chess with Aro, and often, before you risk too much."

From the standard setup, Carlisle moves all the pieces until the white pieces are in what look like utterly unassailable positions. He sets up the black knight, which I assume is Edward, with his talent, and me in the middle of it all, with no place to move. He then places the other four pawns, Carlisle, Rosalie, Emmett and Esme, around the knight and the other pawn. They're all in immediate danger, and I shake my head.

Edward takes the four pawns out of harm's way, and moves two of them to the starting positions, in a protective formation. He hands the other two to Carlisle. Eleazar, who has watched this exchange with intense concentration, picks up a rook, and hands it to Edward. I've played enough chess with Billy to know that a game with a knight and a rook is still a game, given the right player.

"He has this much potential?" Edward asks, and I realize why Edward hugged him. Eleazar must know something about Jasper. But how?

"Yes, and so does she," he replies, nodding at me. "But you still have to be careful. If Aro found out where you hid him, he would stop at nothing to get all three of you. You'd be the most powerful members of the guard."

"That's exactly what Alice said!" I say, looking at Edward.

"All right," Carlisle interrupts, looking annoyed. "No more secrets. If you want my help, I've got to know what you've been hiding from me."

"I'm sorry, Carlisle," Edward says earnestly. "We couldn't risk Aro finding out. Once we tell you, you'll probably never be able to touch him again."

"He did say he wasn't concerned about my word," Carlisle replies, with a trace of bitterness. "I have no problem holding him to that, not after what he pulled."

"Renata and I met someone last night, so talented even in human form that I made the mistake of telling her about it," Eleazar explains. "She turned him as a present for Aro. I was so angry about the way Edward and Bella were treated that I left without telling them where to find him."

A thousand worries fly away from me like bats from a dark cave, and I fling myself at him in gratitude, mirroring Edward's reaction earlier with gusto.

"Jasper, your friend?" Carlisle asks, stunned. Edward nods.

"And I went back to find him, to help him if he wanted help," Eleazar concludes. "But when I got there, all I found were the scents of Edward, and two humans. One I know now was Bella. Who is this Alice? Was she the other?"

"Jasper's wife," Carlisle says, comprehension dawning on him. "From what Edward has told me, a very talented human. Is she _still_ human?"

Edward and I both shake our heads.

"_You_ changed her?" Carlisle asks, surprised.

"I had to," Edward explains. "Alice's visions were very clear as to what would happen if I waited, Carlisle. If Aro had found out, all four of us would be guard members with absolutely no way out."

"Where are they now?"

"Emmett and Rosalie have them, most likely somewhere in northern Canada by now. They're supposed to let Bella know exactly where once it's safe."

Edward picks up the black queen and sets her in the most protected and advantageous spot on the board. Eleazar's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the sight of the queen, the most powerful piece in the game, and he studies the board for a moment. He takes another black knight and sets him on the board near the pawns representing Emmett, Rose, Alice and Jasper. He then places three more pawns and a bishop near the back edge. I know from what Edward told me that Eleazar's experience would be more helpful than his talent alone, unless we wants to make some kind of vampire army. I really don't see that happening, even with circumstances as they are.

"I cannot speak for the rest of the Denali coven before explaining things to them, but I am certain they will all be at least willing to help with the newborns," Eleazar says with a kind of detached calm.

Carlisle puts his two pawns in place, one near the back with the others, and the other in a position to protect the pawn in the middle representing me. I start to feel an ache in my chest. My family has always been so tiny and disparate that I've really only thought of them as individuals. This is different—individuals, yes, but the ache in my chest now has form. I realize this is a true _family_, doing what families are meant to do. Carlisle looks concerned, but competent, and we've already been through so much to protect Edward together, I feel protected by his presence.

"You will need my guidance, Edward," he says. "Forgive me for saying so, but to get both you and Bella out of there safely, you'll need a cooler head than you've had in the past."

I can feel Edward tensing up at whatever Carlisle is thinking, and look at him in time to see the anger flare briefly in his eyes. I look at the board, and while our chances seem much improved, Aro still has a better chance. And _three thousand _years of experience. Carlisle and Eleazar both watch Edward closely, gauging his reaction to the gentle provocation. If he has a hard time controlling himself when a peaceful, thoughtful man who wants what's best for him presses his buttons on purpose, what's going to happen when someone like Aro really gets playful and sadistic? Just this morning he played into his hands, furious at the thought of Demetri anywhere near me. I think of Aro's amused expression when Edward angled me so that Demetri couldn't even see me.

"Please, Edward," I say softly, and his anger melts away slowly when his eyes meet mine. "I'll even wait ten years if it means we all get out of this in one piece."

He takes my hand, kisses it, and looks calmly at the two older men. They both stare at him as if seeing him for the first time. The corner of Eleazar's mouth twitches as he eyes me appreciatively.

"The love of a good woman," he says with a smile, and then says something else in rapid Spanish. Carlisle laughs, and Edward sighs, mildly embarrassed.

"Fine, you've made your point. You're right," he says to the two men. "There's no need to rush, and you're also right about my temper. I am honored and grateful for your guidance in this matter. Apparently, I'm going to need it."

~oЖo~

"I still want a chart," I say, snuggling under the covers later on.

"You'll get one," Edward laughs, kissing my hair. "Can it wait till the morning?"

"Yeah. It can definitely wait. I'm way too comfortable to even dream of letting you get out of this fucking awesome bed."

"I'm glad you didn't use that kind of language in front of Carlisle," he says, sounding shocked.

"That's kind of hypocritical of you," I protest, tugging on his hair a bit. "This morning you were cursing like a sailor giving birth."

"I owe you an apology for that. I was angry," he admits thoughtfully.

"So now you're going to be in some kind of vampire anger-management program?" I ask, trying to keep from laughing.

"Shut it," he says, shaking a fist in mock anger.

As if he would ever hurt me. I kiss his knuckles and snuggle even closer in his arms. He readjusts and brushes my hair out of my face. I know he can see me, even in this darkness, so I tilt my face in the direction of his cool breath and wait for his lips to find mine. As tired as I am, my dreams are always better with a little inspiration beforehand, and with everything that's happened, I'm more than a little worried about having nightmares. He doesn't disappoint me, and I'm rewarded with a kiss of such sweet intensity it borders on reverence. Soon I have to break away for air, and I remember something I meant to ask him.

"Before Carlisle came, you were trying to tell me something. You said something about owing me an apology? Do you mean for trying to ditch Carlisle and me with that fake letter to my dad?" I'm still not happy with that.

"No, and I'm not going to apologize for that, although I could have gone about it more intelligently, for sure. I'd do anything to save your life, and I know now you would do the same."

"Of course I would. You thought something else?"

"I didn't know, Bella. I saw, from Marcus, how you love me. I knew you loved me, but I didn't know what that meant. I've read the minds of countless humans in love, and I've seen how they fall out of it. They convince themselves they never loved at all. It's always seemed like such a tenuous hold, but you, you're different. Marcus saw that too. Your love, for a human, even for a vampire, it's so beautiful, so strong, Bella. I'll never assume anything about your emotions ever again."

"Does this mean you won't be going crazy with jealousy anymore?" I ask, noting that his reactions to Demetri didn't stop once he read Marcus' mind. Demetri's designs on me most likely involve my death more than anything … recreational. _Nasty._

"It might help a little," he says, making me laugh sleepily. "Hey, you don't know what it's like to be pummeled with people's pornographic fantasies on a constant basis. It's bad enough having to deal with some of the thoughts that women and gay men throw my way, but to have to watch you in the minds of other men—"

"Argh, no more please!" I mutter in an attempt to drown out what he's saying. The words "naked," "bobbing," and "flexible" manage to filter through, and I cover his mouth with my hand until he breaks down in a fit of laughter. "No wonder you never used to talk to anyone."

"Yeah, and people think it's _so weird_ I was never interested in anyone before."

"So I was right."

It takes him so long to answer that I feel slightly jolted awake when he does.

"Right?"

"About this singer thing being a two-way street," I say through a yawn.

"What an unusual way to think about it," he murmurs, lightly tracing random swirling lines on my skin. Somewhere in the mix I hear him whisper, "I want to meet your mother. Before we go to Italy, okay?"

"You'll get along great," I whisper back. "She curses like a sailor, too."

I feel him smile against my forehead, but my dreams are taking over. His fingertips glide along the surface of my skin like ice skaters, and soon he's humming along to their graceful routines. In his cool embrace, sleep finally covers me like a blanket of snow, and I sink into dreams of a beautiful palace made of ice and flames, vaguely reminiscent of a medieval castle, where everyone is cold or burning, but nobody seems to even notice.

~oЖo~

**A/N: So, in addition to the reminder that there's a new outtake for Canzone, I'd like to point you in the direction of a fantastic one-shot by my awesome and charming beta NelsonSmandela, who has finally given in to my nagging (and that of others) and posted something of her own. It's a gloriously creeptastic number for the Femmes Noires contest, and I adore it. Renesmee hits puberty, and she's a…not nice girl…**

**Fanfiction (dot) net/s/5511912/1/Darkbloom_Les_Femmes_Noires**

**FeistyYBeden, of Sleepers, Awake fame, has also posted a bad Renesmee story for the same contest. I don't know which one is creepier, but they're both very bad little seeds. **

**Fanfiction (dot) net/s/5509255/1/Modern_Medusa**

**LATE EDIT: Also, if you really want an EPOV chapter of Canzone and you also want to help out kids with cancer, you're in luck... thefandomgivesback (dot) proboards (dot) ?action=display&board=fic&thread=350 **


	23. Love, Lies, and the Cold Hard Truth

**Chapter 23: Love, Lies and the Cold, Hard Truth**

**A/N: Special thanks to Sariedee, Sch2, and Fuzzybunny 322, who bought alternate POV chapters of Canzone for TheFandomGivesBack charity auction for Alex's Lemonade Stand. Sch2 has yet to decide (to my knowledge- if you have, send me a PM here on ffn!), but the others have chosen Chapters 4 and 12 for EPOV. Once these generous ladies have had a chance to read them, they've also been kind enough to let me share them with you in Canzone Outtakes. **

**Thanks to master beta NelsonSmandela, to ScarlettLetters for general awesomeness and plotting soundboard, to Algie for reminding me about the Joshua Bell DC Metro insanity, and to Feisty, whose every word pwns me hard. I've missed you guys. **

**Disclaimer: Not even close.**

**Chapter Music & Books**

**The Guggenheim Grotto: Philosophia**

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=0sFDzJHYK00**

**J.S. Bach: "Chaconne" from **_**Partita No. 2 in D Minor **_

**Performed by Joshua Bell in the Washington DC Metro**

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=myq8upzJDJc**

**Pulitzer prize-winning article about what happened there:**

**http://wwwDOTpulitzerDOTorg/works/2008-Feature-Writing**

~oЖo~

Esme is pretty much how I imagined her, based on Edward's descriptions from his journals and how she sounded on the phone. She's pretty, and kind of young-looking, but like Carlisle, with his "dad vibe", she just seems like a mom, somehow. The way she and Carlisle greet each other at the airport makes my heart ache for something I can't even remember having. I know that Charlie and Renee must have had at least a moment like that, or else I wouldn't be here, but it isn't in my memory, and I've never seen a picture proving it—with one small exception. It's just two hands joined over a birthday cake, my first birthday cake. I don't know who took the picture, Grandma Swan, maybe? It's me, the cake, and two hands joined in the upper right hand corner of the photo. I know the one hand belongs to mom because of the charm bracelet she always wears, and I know the other belongs to Dad because of the wedding ring he still hasn't taken off. Maybe it's pathetic that this is the only proof I have, beyond my own existence, that my parents were in love once.

"Look at you," Esme says, smiling sweetly at Edward. She looks like she wants to cry, but can't. "You look so different, you look ... Oh Edward, I've wanted this for you for so long."

As they share a tender embrace, something tugs on the back of my mind, like I've forgotten an important appointment. Hell, with the weekend I'm having, I've probably forgotten a lot. But it's the beginning of Spring Break, and I was supposed to be in Paris right now, so I can't think of what it might be. Add on my first role in an opera, surprise vampires, several near-death experiences, and it's no wonder I'm feeling a little disoriented. I feel a little shy when Esme greets me with an embrace, but she's so welcoming that I already feel comfortable with her. She's different from Renee—Esme's whole being seems to revolve around the idea of some otherworldly wife and mother, some element that defines her, as if she were carrying a pomegranate and a peacock feather, like a statue of Hera. Maybe that's what it is: they all remind me of statues, most of the time. They move and fidget like people usually do, but it looks a little unnatural. I wonder what Renee's symbols would be, if she had any. Maybe some symbol of chaos, whatever that would be. I know there must be one, but I can't picture it, exactly, and my inability to do so only intensifies my nameless worry.

As we leave the airport, Esme and Carlisle ride with Eleazar, and Edward and I follow in the SUV with the cracked dashboard. While I'm staring at the jagged fissure, Edward's cell phone rings, and my stomach drops a little as I realize what I've missed.

"360 area code," Edward says, reading the display as I pull my own phone out of my jeans.

There's no display on my phone because the last time I charged it was Thursday night.

"Edward Cullen speaking," he answers, always so politely. "Yes, Chief Swan, she's right here."

I take the phone from Edward's outstretched hand. "Dad, is everything okay?"

"You tell me," he says, sounding somehow both annoyed and relieved, all within the tightly controlled range of emotion that is so very Charlie. "Your mother is convinced that you're rotting in a ditch somewhere, and I've had to stop Billy from calling in the Quileute version of the National Guard to look for you."

"I'm so sorry, Dad. I have my phone on me, but I must have forgotten to charge it. I didn't even notice it had died. I'll call Renee right away. I don't understand, though, why is Billy upset? I just saw you both on Friday night."

"Well, I can't make heads or tails of it myself. He was there when your mom called, and instead of laughing about Renee's typical overreaction when I told him how worried she was, he just about lost it."

"I'm fine, Dad. Can you please tell him I'm fine?" I've got so much nagging guilt it feels like I've got a nest of hungry, angry baby birds in my stomach, just waiting to be fed, and I'll never have enough to satisfy them.

"Yeah, I'll tell him. But how about you humor him and come to Forks for part of your vacation? Just for a day or two?"

"Come to Forks?" I repeat, looking at an equally guilty-looking Edward, who nods in agreement.

I should tell Charlie about the Volterra scholarship in person, anyway. I really should spend as much time with him as possible before we leave. I feel a little anxious, wondering what this will mean for Edward. Given Billy's suspicions and the way the Cullens feel about honoring their side of the treaty, we've decided it would be best if Edward and the rest of the Cullens avoid meeting any Quileutes at all, if possible.

"Yeah, of course," I say. "I'm really sorry if I made anyone worry. Dad, when did you get Edward's phone number? I don't remember giving it to you."

"Police chief, remember?" he says dryly. "And I know you're in college, legal adult and all, but do I even want to know what you're doing on a Sunday morning at 9 AM, so close to Edward Cullen's phone?"

"We're in the car, Dad," I say softly. "We're driving back from the airport. Edward's parents are here for the week."

After a pause that lasts pretty long, even for Charlie and me, he sighs. I wonder if he's listening for traffic noises, or just doesn't know what to say.

"Okay, well, call your mom, okay? I don't like it when she's upset like this."

I wonder if Renee ever fully understood the depth of Charlie's devotion to her. I'm pretty sure that even now—after all these years and another husband—if she were to show up on his doorstep and ask to come back, he wouldn't hesitate. It makes me sad, but a little proud, too. I understand him. As disloyal as it makes me feel for saying this about my mother, Charlie deserved more than the temporary love Renee could offer him.

"Okay, I'll call her."

"And call me back when you're on your way here, okay? I don't want to worry about you on the road until you're on it."

We say goodbye, and I hang up, exhaling noisily. Edward and I exchange a look that tells me he doesn't need to read my mind to figure this one out, and he nudges me with the phone when I try to give it back to him.

"Just do it now," he urges, dialing her number from memory like the stalking vampire he's always been.

I take the phone as I hear Renee's panicked voice. Of course, she has no idea who's calling her.

"I'm okay, Mom—the battery on my phone died and I was too out of it to notice," I say in a rush.

"Bella, thank God," she says, _crying. _"I was so worried."

"I'm sorry Mom," I say helplessly.

I can't stand it when Renee cries, especially when I'm the one responsible. She calms down considerably, and we chat for a few minutes about Phil and the opera. Then she asks what happened after the show. I don't want to lie to her, and I look over at Edward to see his face carefully expressionless, with just a hint of tension about his eyes. I know he really wants to speak to her; he's trying not to force the issue, even after his family greeted me with open arms and—except for Rosalie—accepted me as part of the family simply because Edward loves me. And then they risked everything to help us.

Try not to feel guilty about _that._

Backed into a corner, I can only give them what they both want, no matter how terrified I am of their potential for world domination once they combine forces.

"Mom, Edward is in the car with me, and he wants to talk to you, if that's _okaaay_…" I hold the phone out to a ridiculously smiling vampire as Renee's high-pitched girlie-squeal makes me blush from residual teenage embarrassment.

"You can't, you know, read her mind over the phone, can you?" I whisper, as he takes the phone.

"No, of course not," he whispers to me. He's probably telling the truth.

Like it matters. Renee will probably say whatever pops into her head.

I lean my head against the window, worrying about how I'm going to deal with my family and this new double life that has become my reality. I can't believe how little time has gone by since I was judging my so-called roommate Felicia for never sleeping at the dorm and keeping it from her parents. Not only am I hiding identical sleeping habits, but also the whole vampire thing, including a few brushes with death, an engagement to a 109-year old vampire, and a deal with the devil.

It's only going to get worse once I'm turned. I know the protocol: faked death, no more interaction with the humans from one's past. In my case, there will most likely be some overlap, as I'll be a vampire passing for human in the public eye, at least for several years. I'm just barely listening to Edward's half of the conversation. Of course, he charms the pants off of her with his smooth voice and his sincere good manners. Within minutes she's got him laughing, probably at some embarrassing story from my childhood. I hope. Because otherwise, she might be _flirting. _My hot, married mom, not even 40 years old, is quite possibly flirting with my centenarian vampire boyfriend.

_Jerry Springer would love us._

~oЖo~

I don't know how much extra time I'm going to have once school starts again, so we hit the bookstores in downtown Seattle before heading out to Forks.

"I found the one by Castiglione, Edward," I call out softly as we search the shelves for the books on Eleazar's recommended reading list for survival. "That's weird—his first name is Baldassare, and this other guy's name is Baltasar. Coincidence?"

"No, it's the same guy. _Vampire_," he whispers dramatically, and I can't figure out if he's teasing or not.

Some of the books I've already read for school, like Machiavelli's _The Prince _and Charlie's beloved Marcus Aurelius. Most of them I've never even heard of before. One book, provocatively titled _One Hundred Unorthodox Strategies_, looks a little intimidating. Edward has promised to translate it from Chinese for me if he can't find a translation he likes, but I think he's just showing off now. The more I learn about the capacity of the vampire mind, the more eager I am to sign on. I can't wait to take classes armed with a photographic memory.

"How long did it take you to learn Italian?" I ask, wishing he could just change me now.

"A couple of days," he says offhand. "Or rather, part of a couple of days. But I already knew French and Spanish. Chinese took me a week."

"So jealous," I sigh. "Are you sure they'd notice if you changed me before finals?"

"I think everyone would notice," he says, eyebrow raised. "What with the deaths of all of your classmates and your instructors as you drink their blood, let alone your perfect, shining scores on the exams, should you be able to find someone alive to grade it."

"Oh, you'd stop me," I say dismissively.

"The only way I can stop you is with the help of others in a remote environment," he informs me. "When you're a newborn you'll be incredibly strong, remember?"

"I bet you'll be relieved then, when I'm not so fragile."

"You've no idea," he says, feigning exhaustion. Hilarious.

"Why do I get the feeling you'd encase me in bubble wrap and a crash helmet if you thought you could get away with it?" We're currently in something of a showdown, because I want to go to Forks by myself, and he's worried about vampires on the road. I'm worried, too, if I'm completely honest, but I've got a point to make. Edward's going to drive us both insane if he doesn't stop smothering me.

"What makes you think I can't get away with it?" he asks, snatching a worn copy of Baltasar Gracián's _The Art of Worldly Wisdom_ from my hands before I can stop him. "Since I met you, there's been one serious concussion, two near face-plants on concrete, and two bleeding feet … not to mention your worrisome tendency to attract monsters."

"_Vampires_," I correct automatically under my breath, sitting down on a comfy couch in the middle of the bookshop. I don't bother to argue further with him at the moment, unless he's crazy enough to actually try to put a helmet on me. Vampire or not, I'm going to win that war. "Do we have everything? I think we hit most of my favorite bookshops in Seattle, and I need to get on the road soon."

He stacks the books neatly, almost compulsively, by size. Eleazar's list is really long, and even though I won't get through the list in two days, Edward certainly can.

"_We _will get on the road in a moment," he says, in a quiet but intractable voice. "_You _will get to Forks, to your father, in one living, breathing piece. _We _are missing only one book, which is out of print, so I'll just do an Internet search, and maybe _we_ will get lucky."

"Get lucky?" I ask, trying to remember why I was about to protest. He nuzzles my neck, and my mind goes completely blank. Then he's smiling at me, all sweet and victorious. I bury my face in my hands in embarrassment. "You really need to stop doing that to win arguments with me. It isn't fair."

"Oh, it's completely fair," he says, the challenge plain in his face. "You can ask anyone who knows me; your influence on me is just as intense."

"It's not the same," I protest, gathering up the books to take them to the register.

The bookseller at the counter smiles at Edward flirtatiously as she hands him … his credit card. Sneaky, Edward. Really sneaky.

"Thanks for shopping at Abraxus, Mr. Cullen," she says, not looking at me once as she hands him the books _I _had given her. My cash sits in the palm of my hand, completely ignored by everyone involved. How old am I, four? And my boyfriend uses his devastating good looks to manipulate sales ladies everywhere into letting him pay for everything. I live in Bizarro World. Most girls I know get upset when their boyfriends _don't_ pay for anything.

"Exhibit A," I point out, as we exit the store. "How long did it take for you to dazzle that poor lady into that little shenanigan while I wasn't looking? I thought we agreed that I would pay this time."

"You insisted, I mumbled," he counters, pocketing his card. "What I actually said and what you assumed I said were quite possibly two different things."

As we walk towards the truck, I hear a violin, faintly playing in the distance. It's coming from the direction of the Children's Museum, so I tug on Edward's hand a bit and change course. I don't know why I need to go listen, but I do.

The closer we get, the clearer the sound gets, and I see him: this old Asian guy with white hair, fewer teeth than he once had, and a damaged-looking bow plays children's songs while kids run around in hyper little circles nearby. A few of the kids sit close to the man, asking him questions and getting only a smile in return. I don't know which reminds me of Alice more, the busking violin or the hyper kids, but I'm just drawn to him and his flawed playing. I'm still annoyed about not getting to pay for the books, so I toss all of my cash into his violin case.

Edward gapes at me for a second with this really annoying stare of disapproval, until he looks over at the man in surprise. He says something to him in a language I don't recognize, and the man nods, replies in the same language, and starts to play some Bach. It's not nearly as good as the folk tunes he was playing before, and I want to stop him, but I don't know what to say. Listening to him playing Bach makes me sad, when I was completely happy just a moment ago. I remember Jasper saying, "Technique without passion is blind, and passion without technique is lame."I feel like we just asked a man who was walking reasonably well to start running, exposing a horribly painful limp. The man's face is ecstatic, though. He's missing notes all over the place, and I don't think he cares. I wouldn't know he had if I hadn't heard Alice play this very piece on more than one occasion. On the other hand, I wouldn't recognize it as Bach, either.

The children who've been paying attention start to fidget, and thankfully, he returns to the music that loves him. That's when one of Dr. George's cardinal rules of performance springs to mind: _Never forget that you are the artist, _and_ the art._ _Someone may make a request, or you may even want to sing something that isn't right for you. As the artist, you have to constantly make that judgment, in order to protect your work and your reputation._ The books we just bought remind me of the follow-up lesson: _Never refuse a request outright—only offer more appealing alternatives until they choose otherwise. _I shudder, thinking of how close we may have come to nonexistence, had Aro not chosen the alternative. Lesson learned.

"What did you say to him?" I ask a moment later as we walk back towards the truck.

"I just mentioned the incident with Joshua Bell playing in the Washington D.C. metro during rush hour," he says. "I complimented him on his choice of audience."

I had heard about that in one of my ear training classes. Bell—world-famous, incredibly talented and one of the best violinists alive—had taken part in a social experiment in the busiest Washington D.C. metro subway. Hidden cameras recorded as he played the exquisite _Chaconne _by Bach on a Stradivarius. This man, who could sell out any concert hall in the world, went largely ignored while people rushed to their political jobs. I can't imagine being able to ignore such beauty, even if my job were in jeopardy.

"I'd choose little kids playing over politicians on their way to work, too," I agree. "Still, there was something about the way he played those folk songs. It's like he was in the column, somehow, even with the crappy bow and the sloppy playing. He was strangely compelling, but I'm not sure why. What was he thinking?"

"He was a little delusional, but not dangerous," Edward says sadly. "He wasn't totally aware of what was going on, until you put all that money in there."

"I was kind of hoping he would get some repairs done to the instrument," I confess.

"Better than that, he'll be able to buy a train ticket to his daughter's house in Portland," Edward whispers, caressing my arm. "He couldn't bear to ask her for help, but now he can come to her house without seeming like a beggar. He'll offer her help instead—like a father should—from money he earned."

We're driving for almost an hour towards Forks when I realize in part what was so compelling about the old man's playing. He looked absolutely enraptured when he was performing the songs he knew best. Playing the Bach took him out of the zone, but those simple songs … he was in ecstasy, when his reality was falling apart. He owned those songs as he owned the venue: the free street, a sidewalk filled with children, clear of contracts and any monetary exchange, save for the moment of inspiration. It's almost as if music makes its own contract with the musician, no matter who pays the bills. I find that strangely comforting.

~oЖo~

"So tell me about this girl, Maria?" I sit on the ledge of my open window, feet in the frame and eyes on Jake. I love the way the edges of his mouth curl automatically when I say her name, and his whole face softens. "How did you meet?"

"Maria del Pilar," he says, grinning as he shows me her picture … _their_ picture, actually, the two of them, together. They look happy. _He_ looks happy, and I'm relieved of a tiny portion of guilt. "Her parents moved here last year from California, but I didn't really meet her until New Years Eve. Quil wanted to meet some girl at a mixer and needed a wingman."

"Quil knows what a wingman is? What is he, like, twelve years old?"

"Quil didn't even need me," he laughs. "He used this really cheesy line, which somehow worked, and they ditched me to go make out in the janitor's closet. At first I was pissed off, but then Maria was there, and she seemed interested, so we just started talking. I know, a girl interested in me. Weird, right?"

"It's not weird at all," I promise. "You're adorable, and any girl who wasn't practically your sister would be thrilled to have your attention. So, did you get a midnight kiss?"

"Yeah! I wasn't expecting it at all, but she just planted one on me, saying something about tradition and good luck. You know, it's really different when the girl kisses you back."

I hand him the picture, and smile at my smitten friend.

"She's cute," I observe, dangling one foot out of the window on to the sloping roof of the house.

"She's beautiful," he corrects me. "And you're making me nervous. It's almost like you're _trying _to fall out of the window."

Something tells me Edward would catch me. I haven't seen him since we parted ways after the long drive, but I can feel him. Maybe I am trying to fall out of the window, subconsciously, just to be with him.

"Oh, all right," I say, as much to Edward as to Jacob. "I'll be more careful."

"Who are you talking to?" Jacob asks. I keep forgetting how well he knows me.

"Who else?" I ask, pointing at him.

"That's what I'm asking," he says, looking out the window. He even looks up at the sky for a second, sniffing. "By the way, Dad told me you're dating that Cullen guy. He's kinda freaked out about it."

"Billy gets freaked out easily," I mutter.

"No, he doesn't," Jake says, and he's right. "But don't worry, I didn't tell him that your boyfriend's gay. He just thinks he's a vampire."

The buzzy timer sounds from the kitchen downstairs.

"Dinner's ready, weirdo," I say, trying to slip into my old persona.

It doesn't work. My voice sounds false now. I hate it, so I just stop talking.

Dinner proves to be uncharacteristically uncomfortable, because Billy looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't, and I'm trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of Volterra. This leaves Jake to make conversation with Charlie, some obviously rehashed conversation about football. Or maybe it's baseball, or basketball, I have no idea. Charlie hates rehashed conversations, so his side consists mostly of noncommittal grunting and weird looks.

"Pass the salt," Billy asks me, and I reach for it without thinking.

Instead of taking the salt he takes my whole left hand.

"Nice ring," he observes, feeling my skin like he might be sneakily checking for a fever. _Or too-cold skin. _"Interesting finger to put it on. That wouldn't be an engagement ring, would it?"

Jake's yammering to fill the silence comes to the proverbial screeching halt in the form of a coughing fit when Billy says the words "engagement ring". Yes, we are a table full of super-smooth operators.

"I've got something to tell you guys," I say in what may be the most awkward, misleading segue ever. "Have you ever heard of the Volterra fellowship?"

"Some big deal, isn't it?" Charlie asks, staring at my ring as though it's a giant, venomous spider. "Didn't you say your voice teacher had won it a long time ago?"

"That's right," I say, my face heating under the intense scrutiny of the two men … and whatever percentage boy/man Jake is by now. "And, I would have told you this much sooner, because I thought there was no way in hell I was getting it. But, um, I did, so yeah, I'm, uh, _goingtostudyinItalynextyear_."

_Well, that was well done, Bella. The verbal equivalent to tripping all the way down a flight of stairs. With a loaded gun. _

Nobody looks like he got shot, but Charlie looks a little stunned.

"That's great!" Billy's enthusiasm surprises me for a second. "You'll meet lots of new people there, a fresh new start."

Okay, not so mysterious after all. My plan is to say nothing, so I just smile and chew.

"I'm proud of you, Bells," Charlie says, his eyes shining. My fake smile suddenly feels real after all. "We should talk about how much it's going to cost. Don't worry, though, my credit's good."

"It's fully funded, Dad. It doesn't cost anything." I'm even happier to see the relief in his eyes. "Dr. George says they're even paying for airfare."

"You must be really good," he says, a little smile lifting the corners of his mustache. "I mean, I always think your singing is amazing, but I may be a little biased."

"You know, long-distance relationships don't work," Jacob observes helpfully.

_Jackass._

"Speaking of which, how is your boyfriend taking the news?" Billy asks pointedly, still staring at my ring. "You know, that you have to be apart for so long?"

Even though it's not true, just hearing the words, the very idea of leaving Edward pisses me off, and I speak before thinking.

"Edward will be studying in Volterra, too," I say, in a clear, and what I hope is a neutral, tone. "He's had a standing invitation for years, and we didn't want to be apart."

Billy's fork hits his plate, and he looks pissed. Jake whistles low.

"So… _is_ that an engagement ring?" Charlie asks finally. "I'm surprised he didn't ask my permission first. He seems kind of old school."

"Yeah, old school. Real old," Billy says stonily. "Formal. And Cold."

My eyes fly involuntarily to Jacob, who shakes his head slightly at me, but Billy catches it.

"I mean, I haven't met him personally," he says, with more than a hint of reproach at both of us. "But I saw him on stage, and he kind of seems like a _Cold One_."

I have no idea what to say to that, so I address Charlie's question.

"It's not technically an engagement ring," I say, holding my hand up. "But that's only because of my general aversion to weddings. I think he probably would ask you if he thought he could get away with it. He was concerned about you getting the wrong impression about his intentions. We haven't said anything because we haven't completely agreed on what the ring means, besides _forever._"

"Forever, huh?" Charlie asks, getting over his original stunned surprise. Billy shakes his head. "Isn't it kind of soon for that kind of thing? You hardly know the guy."

"I know him, Dad." I'm not hungry any more.

"How well do you know him?" Billy asks. "I don't want to see you getting hurt, Bella."

"He would never hurt me," I tell them all, gathering up the dishes. Dinner is obviously over.

Jake stays behind to help me clean. Once we're alone, he corners me.

"Dude, you got _engaged_?" he asks, backing up when I try to hit him with a dishrag. "You're totally not allowed to do that!"

"_Shut up_!" I hiss in a whisper. I listen to hear if Billy's talking to Charlie, but all I hear coming from the living room are sounds of some sports whatever. "Are you going to give me a hard time about this, too?"

"I thought you said he was gay!"

"_You_ said that, not me. He's totally not, by the way."

"Please, spare me the details. I'm coming around to the idea of you as a sister, but I don't want to know that stuff about Rachel, either," he says with a shudder. "But, man, that was fast, wasn't it? You weren't even dating over the holiday break, and now you're, like, talking about forever and running off to Italy?"

"Yeah, well, sometimes you just know," I say, shaking my head. "Besides, we were friends first, and I said that I couldn't tell if we were dating. He was just being respectful. Old school, remember?"

"How respectful?" Jake asks, eyebrows raised. "Like, so respectful he's probably gay after all, or—"

"You just said you didn't want details. Did you change your mind?" Like I would even talk about that with anyone.

"No! Please, no, I take it back." He laughs until we spot Billy watching us from the front hallway.

"Come on, Jacob," he says, frowning. "I've got some council business to attend to tonight."

"This late?" asks Charlie in his cop voice. "You didn't say anything about that earlier."

"Just a quick meeting," he answers cryptically. "But it's important, so I need to be there. Jake, you should be there, too."

Jake throws his drying towel down on the counter, gives me a quick hug and a shrug goodbye, and they leave.

"I think he always thought you and Jake would get together," Charlie tries to explain as we watch them drive away. "And I'll miss you, more than you know. But I know the opera house in Forks leaves something to be desired, so…"

The urge to throw my arms around his neck overwhelms me, but that's just not us. I smile and duck my head, feeling more like myself than I could with Billy's constant reference to the one thing I can't talk about. We stand there awkwardly for a moment, as much mirror images of each other as gender allows.

"I'm going to watch the game," he mumbles, and I nod, walking up the staircase. "I'm proud of you."

"I love you too, Charlie," I say softly, and he nods, uncomfortably.

When I get up to my bedroom, I'm disappointed and a little surprised to find it empty. I go to the window and open it, leaning far out into the deep blue night, trying to see the moon.

"_Edward_!" I call out in a whisper, and nearly jump out of my skin when his soft laugh sounds right above my head. His hand steadies me, and keeps me from falling. "What are you doing up on the roof? I thought we were over these stalker tendencies."

"Just avoiding Billy Black, and stargazing," he says, slipping swiftly into my room like a gust of air. "You're going to love being able to see the night sky with vampire eyes. You can see Saturn's rings and all the little moons. I've been taking it for granted for so long, but now I just keep thinking of everything you're going to experience for the first time."

I tilt my head up to kiss him, keeping my eyes partly open. I have to see him, even as I breathe in his scent, touch him, and taste him. I want him to talk, too, but it's a bit tricky to do during a kiss like this. We've only been apart for seven hours, but I feel the physical urge so strongly to consume him with all of my senses. He reluctantly pulls away when the kiss starts to heat up.

"It just feels wrong, what with your father downstairs," he confesses. "It seems disrespectful. It's his roof. You know how _old school_ I am."

I laugh, hitting his chest lightly. It still kind of hurts.

"You heard that, huh? I admit, I was a little worried you were going to come down right then and ask my father for my hand."

"I was tempted," he admits, and his face gets serious. "I didn't like leaving you to face questions about us all alone. It isn't right. If I hadn't promised Carlisle that I would stay away from the Quileutes unless there was an emergency—"

"Hey, it's okay. They're family, and they've always been there for me. I owe them an explanation, as much as I can give, anyway."

"Yes, but it's just wrong, you having to answer these questions without me. We should be doing this together. Maybe I could come tomorrow, when Billy isn't here…"

"Or maybe we should stick to the plan and invite Charlie to meet you and your parents in Seattle, just to avoid a bigger mess than the one we already have?"

"I just feel like we're sneaking around," he drags his hands through his hair, huffing in frustration, looking like a teenager.

_So_ glad he can't read my mind.

"We are sneaking around, but it's for a very good reason, remember? Goes by the name _Volturi_, enjoys ritual human slaughter on weekends and holidays?" I try to keep my tone light, and almost keep the tremor completely out of it.

"I know you're partly joking but that's not far from the plain fact of it. All the more reason to…" he trails off, looking determined. "I don't like them defining who I am. Most of the time I'm used to it, but when it comes to you, I'd rather do things the right way. Or as right as nature and Italy will allow, I suppose."

"Cool head, remember?" I remind him, giving him a soft, quick kiss on his chin, because it's all I can reach. "Sneaking around or not, I'm glad you're here now."

"Me too," he says, dipping his head lower and kissing the tip of my nose, both cheeks, and chin in quick succession. It feels like smooth little pebbles slipping gently over my skin. "I figured we could use the time to, uh, read together."

_Yes, because reading with you has always been a completely chaste activity, Edward._ Of course, I don't' say this aloud because I think there could be hope for this night yet. He trails off as I trail my fingertips up and down the skin of his forearms in long figure eights. I tilt my head at him in the way that always makes him a little dreamy-eyed.

"Do you mind if we read in bed?" I ask, smiling as he looks warily at it. "I'll probably keep my clothes on this time."

"Behave yourself," he warns, turning back the covers. "Or I'll move to the rocking chair."

"That's harsh," I murmur, slipping under the covers fully clothed. "What, exactly, does _behaving_ entail?"

He takes off his shoes and tucks them under the bed, pausing to give me a speculative stare. I pat the bed invitingly.

"Clothes definitely on, for starters," he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

"What about when it's time to really sleep? I don't want to sleep in my bra."

"Um, okay, so, when it's time for that, you should just, change in the bathroom," he says, gulping a little. "You'll have to go there eventually, anyway."

"That's true, I will want to take a nice, hot shower. You know, shave things and wash my hair," I say, then pout a little for effect. "I suppose you washing my hair is against the rules? You always do a more thorough job than I possibly could."

He looks at my hair like it's going to bite him. I know he loves washing my hair … I mean _really _loves it. Someday I'll have him wash my hair while I'm wearing nothing but a corset. Why the hell didn't I think of that while packing? Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me. I wonder what I have in my dresser that could tempt him? My x-ray vision fails me (again), but if memory serves correctly it's just T-shirts and sweats. Everything good is at his place, because I assumed he wouldn't even be here.

I must have been biting my lower lip because he stops me, and strokes it softly.

"I get to choose what you wear to bed," he says, looking at the dresser as if trying out x-ray vision as well.

As far as I know, that's not on the list of vampire superpowers. I snuggle up to him and go in for the kill.

"I was hoping I could wear this," I whisper, playing with the collar of his undershirt. "You know I sleep better with your scent all over me."

I hear a little _whoosh_, and he's on the opposite side of the room, looking like he wants to embed himself in my dresser, or maybe fly out the window.

"What part of _behave yourself_ don't you understand?" he asks. It sounds like a little hiss. "The least I can do is to refrain from behaving like an animal in your father's home! Let me have this last shred of dignity, will you, woman?"

"If you feel that strongly about it, I'll be good," I say, holding up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

He gingerly climbs back into bed, like most people step into a hot tub. While he settles in beside me, I hand him the book* closest to me on the nightstand. He lets me cuddle up to him, slipping one arm around me while he reads.

"I like this one: 'Knowledge and courage," he reads, frowning as if in deep concentration, "are the elements of Greatness. They give immortality, because they are immortal. Each is as much as he knows, and the wise can do anything. A man without knowledge, a world without light. Wisdom and strength, eyes and hands. Knowledge without courage is sterile.'"

"I wonder what courage without knowledge is," I murmur, rubbing my hand lightly against his chest.

"Short-lived, always figuratively and often literally" he says, grabbing my hand to keep it still. "Here's one Eleazar was explaining to me: 'Vary the Mode of Action; not always the same way, so as to distract attention, especially if there be a rival. Not always from first impulse; they will soon recognise the uniformity, and by anticipating, frustrate your designs. It is easy to kill a bird on the wing that flies straight: not so one that twists. Nor always act on second thoughts: they can discern the plan the second time. The enemy is on the watch, great skill is required to circumvent him. The gamester never plays the card the opponent expects, still less that which he wants'…"

"That's kind of clever and scary," I whisper into his ear breathily. "But I can see how it might be applicable to our current situation."

He just ignores me and keeps reading, having me effectively immobilized. It's oddly arousing. Taking Mr. Baltazar's advice, I neither kiss his throat as I had planned, nor do I struggle against my trapped hands. Instead, I just sort of relax in his arms as he reads on, and imagine the way we went at each other in the forest until my heart beats so fast it's almost as if I've been running, and I start to feel a damp ache in my lady parts. His voice remains steady until he's forced to take a breath, which leads into a very sexy groan and a look of pained accusation.

"Were you even a girl scout, Bella?"

~oЖo~

After two more days of avoiding Billy and sexual frustration at night due to Edward's stubborn respect for Charlie's roof, as well as the woods beyond it, I tell Charlie it's time to go back. I'm not sad, mostly because he's driving to Seattle in a few days so we can have dinner with the Cullens. I don't promise him anything, but I'm planning on coming back more often during the weekends. With Alice and Jasper gone, and immortality on the horizon, every clumsy moment of mutual tongue-tied silence seems golden.

I watch my father get smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror until he disappears. I'm watching so closely I almost crash my truck straight into Billy's, which is stopped right in the middle of the road. There's no way around it, so I get out to talk to him.

"Why are you crying, Bella?" he asks.

"I'm not crying," I say, and I touch my face, surprised by both the question and the truth of it.

"I've known you since you were a gleam in Charlie's eye, Bella Swan. You've never lied to me before, not even to get yourself out of trouble, but you're lying to me now."

"I didn't realize I was crying," I mumble. "No need to make a major production out of it."

"You know that's not what I mean," he says, his eyes determined. "I'm talking about your plans with that bloodsucker. I'm talking about the Cullens."

"What?" I say dismissively. "You're not even making any sense."

"Charlie said your Edward's hand was cold when he shook it. I watched him for an hour on that stage, and I'm telling you he's not human. He's one of the Cold Ones, isn't he?"

"Cold Ones?"

"Don't play games with me, I know Jake told you. I know both of you. You would ask, and he would tell. Don't you understand?" he says, grabbing my arm to keep me from moving away from him. "You don't know what it's like to love a child, Bella. I love you as if you were my own. You know I always had hopes that someday you and Jake … but this is about more than that. Tell me, is Edward Cullen a vampire? Yes or no, Bella."

I look deeply into his eyes, which have always been kind, and filled with love. Part of me just wants to tell him the truth, but I know where that will lead. Worse yet, I know where it could lead. The Volturi know nothing of the treaty, and if they did, it would undoubtedly force a confrontation. In my mind I see Billy's face as he's tortured by Jane, or drained by Demetri. Suddenly, I find it easy to lie. Passing off my moment of deliberation as shock, I laugh, as if realizing he's making a joke.

"You're really asking me if my boyfriend is a _vampire_?"

"And all this business about being together forever," he says, pointing to my ring. "He'll probably end up killing you."

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, sincerely angry now. "I told you, Edward wouldn't hurt me. He saved my life, and if he wanted to kill me he's had every opportunity, I can assure you. I trust him."

"So, what, then? If he manages to keep you alive, are you going to stay this way, or maybe you think you'll be one of them… This will kill Charlie, you know that? What happens when you don't age? How do you think will Charlie feel when you fake your death?"

This is a reality I've been less than willing to confront. As much as I want to change, and as ready as I am to do it, there's a part of me that's always going to be Charlie and Renee's daughter. Causing them any kind of pain, unavoidable or not, makes me want to throw up.

"Bella, if you're scared of him, we can protect you," he pleads, obviously sensing weakness. "Our tribe has a treaty with the Cullens. They're not allowed on our land. You can live with us, and you won't ever have to see them again."

Clearly, Billy has no idea about the Volturi, who would honor no such contract. An image, a flash of what would happen to Billy, Jake, and everyone else I know strengthens my resolve. I wrench my hand away from his and look at him with a sense of bafflement I do not feel. His eyes turn hard and cold, and for the first time ever, Billy Black is a stranger to me.

"I don't even know what to say to you," I say, before getting back into my truck. "Would you listen to yourself? You're talking about vampires. It's ridiculous."

There is no reply, save for him moving his truck so I can get past.

As he, too, disappears in my rearview mirror, I realize this lie may be the last thing I ever say to Billy Black, a man who has done nothing but care for me and love me. He'll never know that I did it to protect him. It feels like grief, like a death. Pretty soon I'm crying so hard I have to pull over, and I'm not surprised when Edward lifts me, sliding under my lap.

"That was hard to watch," he said softly, kissing my hair. "I almost stepped in when he grabbed your arm. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"He's right," I sob quietly into his chest. "It's going to kill Charlie."

"We don't have to worry about that for several years, Bella. Almost anything could happen in that time." His face stills, as though he's said something wrong without thinking about it, and I know what he means.

He's right, too. Humans _are_ fragile, and Charlie could very well die before I have to break his heart. Just thinking about it brings on a new wave of grief, so intense that I can't even cry from it.

"Can we just drive for a while?" I ask, not wanting to talk any more. I slide over to the passenger's side and buckle my seatbelt.

"Of course," he says sadly, starting up the engine.

We don't speak much on the trip home, but he sings to me, and I let him hold my hand, knowing he will be there for me as the world I once knew grows smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

~oЖo~

When we finally get back to Carlisle and Esme's hotel suite, we find them engaged in deep conversation. Edward smiles warily at me, but I still can't bring myself to smile back at him. I need to feel like I'm not lying to someone, and I've already chosen him.

I don't want to lie to Edward, even if it's just with a smile.

Everyone is telling me to be so careful, to pretend, to _lie_, for some greater good. Intellectually, it makes sense: it's for survival. I can appreciate that, I really can, but it doesn't sit right. Even if I'm not technically lying, I'm keeping secrets from my parents, and they feel it. They can't know it's to protect them from the dangerous world I've fallen into. I hate taking that choice away from them, because I know what they'd choose. Because I would choose the danger, too. I already have.

_The difference between privacy and a secret, _I think, and mentally apologize to Charlie, Renee, and Billy for what must be the hundredth time today. These humanitarian vampires are my new family, the people who know my secrets now, and their world is full of edges so sharp that almost anything could kill me.

"Bella, what is it? Did something happen?" Esme asks, looking concerned.

"One of the Quileutes is close to Bella and her father," Edward explains. "He confronted her about what's going to happen when she has to make her family believe she's dead. Understandably, she's upset."

Both vampires make compassionate noises, and Esme jumps up to comfort me. It helps, even though I'm not sure I want it to. I know I don't deserve to feel better.

They've got that fucking chess board set up, and it looks like they've been talking strategy again. I set the books on the table, all of them with varying degrees of cynicism coating the same advice. All of these books were written by clever people whose lives could be in danger if their clever patrons felt they had been lied to, disagreed with, outshined, or even _inadequately _or _overly flattered_, for fuck's sake.

It dimly occurs to me that the last two days aren't some nightmarish anomaly that can be straightened out with a few phone calls, or even a lawyer. This is my reality now. This, _this _is why Edward resisted me and lied to me. Knowing what I'm doing to my parents now, what I'll have to put them through in the future, it all just finally sinks in like a shipwreck in the ocean, and it's all I can do to hold on to my one life raft.

"It's not just that," I say sadly.

"Tell me," Edward murmurs, stroking my hair. "What can I do?"

He looks so earnest, so loving and caring, that I just lose it.

"So, I'm a liar now," my voice breaks, and my mouth tastes bitter. This is where I can really feel my innocence falling away, because I can't figure out how I could have avoided this, or—and this is the worst part—if I really would choose to change it if it meant giving up Edward. And my guilt and fears tumble out of me in no particular order.

"And everyone's telling me how to stay alive, but it all seems so cynical sometimes because nobody will tell me how I can be a good person," I sob. "I don't know how to do anything without hurting someone, and I'm sorry I'm crying and acting ungrateful when everyone's just trying to help, but I keep hurting people without meaning to—not just Billy, but I made you leave Paris, Esme, where you were happy, and Jasper and Alice are vampires now, and it's all because of me, and I'm so sorry, but I'd still choose you, Edward, I would, and I don't even know if that's wrong. I don't know what wrong _is_ anymore."

Carlisle disappears for a moment, and comes back with a glass of water. I drink it obediently when he holds it to my lips and carefully tips my head back. I bet he's a good doctor. I already feel better, just by following this one simple direction.

He looks at Edward as if asking him something, and Edward nods and releases me, taking the glass with him as he leaves the room. Carlisle takes a deep breath and looks at me with his dad face, and begins to speak.

"I'd tell you it's okay, but you know it isn't, and you sound like you need to hear something real now," he says sincerely. "What you're feeling now is something almost everyone has to go through, vampire or human, if they live long enough—your first major moral dilemma. You don't always get to choose between good and bad; sometimes you have to choose between bad and bad, or good and good, knowing someone will get hurt and that it was your choice that caused the damage. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it's just not possible to live without causing disappointment and suffering to someone."

"You do," I say, calmer now. "I've read Edward's journals. I know you've never killed a human, and you've saved countless lives; you do it all the time."

"You're wrong," he gently corrects. "I may not have taken human life in order to feed, but I've killed four people on purpose, and I've failed to save many more."

I look up at him in surprise.

"I killed Edward," he clarifies. "I told myself it was to honor the request of a dying woman, and in part it was. However, if I'm being honest, I was so lonely that her request only gave me the excuse to create the companionship I craved. And Edward, until he met you, hasn't been happy. I harmed him when I made him a vampire, and everyone he ever killed was killed because I changed him. I killed Edward out of loneliness, and Esme out of love. I killed Rosalie … well, for a few reasons, but if I'm honest it came down to her beauty; isn't that shallow? She almost didn't forgive me for it, and she begged for death until Emmett came along. I killed him because I owed it to her. And now you, innocent as you are, stand before me, pulsing with life, a life that is forfeit now, because you and Edward fell in love. All this suffering is because of my moment of weakness, nearly a hundred years ago."

I stare at him, shocked by his line of reasoning. I can't even picture my world without Edward in it, even though I managed somehow before September. Just thinking about trying to live without him now seems beyond brutal. It physically hurts just trying to imagine it.

"You can't regret Edward," I breathe, seeing Esme's beautiful, caring face as she places her hand reassuringly on Carlisle's arm. "Or Esme, any one of them—you just can't."

"I don't regret their existence, at least, not now that they don't have to be alone. I do regret their suffering, and those killed because of them," he agrees. "And my own impure motives. You see, I do understand what you're feeling, Bella. All I ever wanted was to obey God's commandments. I only ever wanted to be a force of good in the world, but fate made me into a monster."

"You're not a monster, Carlisle," I say fervently. I hate that this gentle man could think such a thing about himself. "You're a doctor. You save lives."

"I am a vampire, in point of fact," he states dispassionately. "And a doctor. Therefore I am forced into three choices when it comes to human interaction: avoid it altogether and be useless, kill and consume, or tell some small lies and save lives. I have chosen the lesser evil in order to serve a higher good. Does that make sense to you?"

"I guess you can't work in a hospital if you fill out the paperwork honestly," I say, feeling better but wondering how I can apply this to dealing with Billy's direct questions, let alone Charlie and Renee's eventual grief. "Being a good person used to be a lot less complicated. Now I've got necessary lies and soon I'll have to worry about cannibalism. I don't know how this works."

"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'wise as a serpent, guileless as a dove',Bella?" he asks, and I nod hesitantly.

"I'm not sure what it means, really." I admit.

"Unfortunately, it's not something that gets tossed around in everyday conversation as much as it used to," he says. "It means keep your eyes open and your intentions good. You can't live long in this world and remain pure, but you can always try to be good. As flawed as I am, I'll always try to help you, because if you're part of this family now, you are my responsibility as well. Assuming you want to be."

"You want me to truly be a part of your family?" I ask, looking from Carlisle to Esme. I can't believe such beautiful creatures would ever call me their own. I've barely gotten used to the fact that someone as divine as Edward could possibly want me, and now it's like they just handed me the keys to Mount Olympus and told me to pick whichever bunk I like.

Feeling eyes on my back, I turn to find Edward leaning in the doorframe with his hands behind his back, looking heartbreakingly beautiful and worried. He looks vulnerable, like I could crush him now if I said no. As if I would ever harm him. Love and a need to protect him swells inside me, so deep and strong that my back straightens automatically, and I can see my smile reflected in his eyes before I feel it on my lips.

_Finally, an easy choice_, I think. Somehow I turn my eyes back to the man who gave me Edward and whose deep compassion kept his soul intact for decades of loneliness and pain. Without his guidance, by all accounts I would be nothing but a crimson stain on Edward's troubled conscience.

"Of course I want to be a part of your family, Carlisle." My words feel like ink on very old parchment, somehow. "It would be an honor."

Carlisle takes my hand in his in a very fatherly gesture, and Esme looks so happy and lovely I barely notice what's happening until I feel the chill of cool silver on my wrist. At first, I think it's a watch, until I notice the lovely blue and white enamel, and the lion crest that I found so intriguing on Edward's cufflinks.

"You may not be as physically strong as a vampire yet," Edward says softly, kissing my cheek. "But you've got the courage of a lion already."

"Let this crest remind you that no matter what name you go by, you are a Cullen," Carlisle says, fastening the clasp on the bracelet. "Remember: harm none, do your best whenever possible, and stay true to your family."

For the first time in my life, I have a lot of family to do right by. I know he's talking about the Cullens, but I'm still Bella Swan, too. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but lying to Billy Black will not be my last interaction with him. I know I can't have it both ways, but I can make it easier on them, somehow. He will know I love him, and Charlie and Renee will be left with more comfort than false obituaries and broken hearts. I've got time to figure something out.

"I'll do my best to deserve this."

~oЖo~

**A/N: Edward is reading from **_**The Art of Worldly Wisdom **_**by Baltasar** **Gracián. Highly recommended.**

**If you saw New Moon, did you laugh during the awesomely random opera elevator music bit? What did you think of NM? I'm curious.**


	24. Sempre Libera

**Chapter 24: Sempre Libera**

**Happy Holidays! **

**Thanks to NelsonSmandela for the holiday beta, to Algie & Feisty for music & the term "Puccini Soubrette." Thanks also to ScarlettLetters. Bambling is a new word. Cross between rambling and babbling. If you don't know the difference between those two things, you've probably never talked to me on the phone. It's like the difference between those extra gears on ten speed bikes. **

**Thanks Robsessed and Kstew411, and everyone else who has recommended this story- I'm not worthy! **

**Also, if you haven't already, check out the EPOV outtakes for Canzone of chapter 4—a FGB chapter commissioned by the delightful Sariedee. Next up is the EPOV for chapter 12, commissioned by fuzzybunny322.**

**Chapter music:**

**Gershwin's "I Got Rhythm" from **_**An American in Paris**_

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=LvglHa_P9BA**

**Barbara Bonney sings Verdi's "Sul fil d'un soffio etesio" from **_**Falstaff**_

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=Ky74TrH31_Q**

**Anna Moffo sings Verdi's "Sempre Libera"****from **_**La Traviata**_

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=2Xn6p5hB7fU**

**~oЖo~**

The rest of the break flies by, thanks in part to the Cullens' visit and their invitation to my dad. I can tell Charlie feels more comfortable around Edward, having met Esme and Carlisle, and I feel more comfortable with the relatively natural way they handle their cover stories. It turns out to be far less awkward than I imagined seeing the Cullens eating dinner and Carlisle going by another first name, knowing Billy will ask. They manage to give Charlie an impression that will surely count as damage control in that department. Thanks to hot cups of coffee, used mostly as props, they manage to even have relatively warm hands when they greet him and say goodbye.

In the middle of the drive back to Edward's apartment, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

"Um, Edward? Rosalie just sent me a text message. She says you should check your texts, too."

He looks at his phone and shakes his head.

"What? Are they okay?"

He hands the phone to me, and I gasp.

"Coming from Rose, this is practically a love note," he explains. "I don't think she'd be this glib if there was a problem. She's just inconvenienced and wants payback."

"Yeah, but does she always call you _numb nuts_?" I ask, wondering what he's texting back so rapidly.

"Only if she's in a good mood," he says, the corner of his mouth curling. "She and Emmett enjoy hunting, and I'm sure that's pretty much all they're doing right now."

From the look on his face I decide maybe I don't want to know. The look disappears as he tucks his phone away, and he seems truly happy for the first time in a week. He starts humming an upbeat, jazzy tune, and takes my hand. I can't stop staring, mostly because I don't think I've ever seen him quite this happy.

"Gershwin?" I ask, trying to remember whether this was a song he might have first heard as a human. It sounds like something from the '20s, so just after.

"Genius," he confirms, in perfect rhythm as we pull up to his place. "_Old man trouble? I don't mind him — You won't find him 'round my door._"

I give him a funny look, wondering what happened to my moody boyfriend, but I don't want to test just how fragile his happiness might be, so when he waggles his eyebrows at me, still singing, I just laugh and shake my head.

"I just want to enjoy this time we have before we have to watch every step," he explains. "I'm not so moody I can't enjoy the calm before the storm."

"I thought you couldn't read my mind!"

"That's what everyone who knows me would be thinking," he admits. "Besides, I _do _got rhythm. And you, I've got you," he adds, with a kiss to my hand and a sidelong look so full of sweet desire it almost makes me forget where we are, and only my seatbelt keeps me from launching myself at him.

His smile widens, and he keeps holding my hand, serenading me for a change. Every time I hear his singing voice, I'm blown away with how rich in color, how always perfectly in tune, how resonant it is. In many ways it's better than mine.

"Did you always sing like that? I mean, I can tell that v- vampire," I say, tripping over the once-forbidden word. "voices are different, but I guess what I'm asking is how different?"

"Well, you've probably noticed the kind of brassy quality to the tone," he started. "That's the biggest difference. Although the difference in hearing is pretty amazing. Also, I think I've always had a good ear for pitch, but the difference in hearing combined with the difference in memory made it perfect."

"I hear perfect pitch is more of a curse than a blessing."

"It's not that bad," he says, "Though I do tune every piano I touch before playing. It's like looking at a painting versus a sharp photograph — you can appreciate something approximate when it's got enough going for it otherwise. Sometimes the approximation itself has a beautiful quality to it."

"That's a relief," I mumble. "How much do you think my voice will change?"

"It's a bit tricky, Bella. When we change, in some ways the change is an improvement; in others, whatever state you're in as a human will freeze and remain that way forever. So, while many vampires can sing with lovely tone and in perfect tune, hardly any had the training as humans required of operatic singing. A vampire who has no vibrato as a human will never develop one, for example, and the range of notes we can sing doesn't change either, only the range of what we can hear. Vampires can sing very quickly, but it's not the same as a nicely developed _bel canto_ style. Whatever technique you can master before the change you will take with you. Then, it will be a shift in tone, almost like switching from a woodwind instrument to brass. People will definitely notice, so taking off time for your newborn year will be helpful in that regard."

I kind of prefer woodwinds, but Louis Armstrong holds a special place in my heart, too. While he hums, I play with his elegant fingers, marveling in the difference of texture in skin. I wonder what I feel like to him. Preferring to listen to him sing than ask, I think of things that are soft, and warm, trying to guess what he'd say if I asked him. At some point I drift off, and don't even realize I've fallen asleep until I hear the car's engine shut off. By the time I've released my seatbelt, he's got my passenger door open and pulls me into his arms, carrying me.

"I'm not a baby," I mumble in protest. I sound like a sleepy kid. "I can walk, you know."

"You're my baby," he whispers, and I lean my head against his shoulder, ridiculously pleased at the endearment. "Just sleep."

I don't argue any more.

**~oЖo~**

_So, we're ice skaters now, and everyone's watching us. Thousands of flashes going off all at once, and in the middle of the rink there are multicolored, interlocking rings._

"_The Olympics?" I ask, confused. "We're musicians, Edward. What the hell are we doing here?"_

"_Don't worry," he says, smiling as the opening notes of Gershwin's _'An American in Paris'_ echo throughout the huge domed rink. "We'll figure it out."_

_Somehow we're skating, doing figure eights, and Edward's twirling me. I'm terrified of falling down, but he never lets me go, so I don't. And it's weird, because I'm skating, but I'm the rink, too—no, now it's a lake, and the dome has turned into a deepening sky, the camera flashes now twinkling stars. _

_I'm a skater _and_ the lake, feeling the cold blades tickle my oddly warm surface-_

"Edward?" I murmur sleepily, recognizing the chilly trail of his fingertips as I wake up, turning to him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, though his fingers keep moving lightly over my skin—now over my stomach and just over the curve of my hip and back. "I should let you sleep more, but I can't seem to stop touching you."

"You don't have to stop. Ever."

He continues to hum, and I tilt my face toward the sound, instantly rewarded by his lips and tongue, his hands sliding over me in a corkscrew motion until I am wrapped up in him and we turn, cotton sheets sliding over my bare skin where his skin does not cover. _Everything I'll ever want is in this kiss_, I think, as his mouth and my mouth form a glorious secret place only we know about. _I wish we were small enough to live in it forever and just keep kissing. _

Part of my mind just drifts, having these weird thoughts about the incredible sensation of floating, sinking into his mouth and body, and my own like we're some glorious ocean. _Is this what that song means, drowning in the sea of love? _I break away when my own tongue goes numb, and I realize I can't breathe.

"Sorry," he whispers, as I take a deep breath over his shoulder.

"For a kiss like that?" I whisper hotly in his ear, earning a rare shudder from him, and a gloriously familiar groan. "Never, never apologize for what your mouth does to me."

To illustrate and move things along, I guide his hand down. He doesn't need much guidance, of course, and I arch against him as he starts stroking me.

I am not quiet.

"Bella, if you want to go back to sleep we have to stop—" I stop his idiocy by putting my mouth on his and move my knees to give him better access.

He moves quickly, burying himself inside me with an intensity and a groan that sends dueling shivers from my ear straight down to where he's already thrusting. He's not as careful as usual, and I can't get close enough. His hands travel from my hips to knees as he repositions my legs to get deeper, so I know he feels it, too. It's as if every inch of my skin wants contact with his, and we twist until we're more entwined than strands of rope, arms and legs winding us ever closer together.

I bite at his ear, wishing for a moment I could make a deeper impression on his skin. It does something, because he cries out and holds us both still.

"Don't move," he warns, his cool breath in my ear, sending chills down my neck. "I don't want to come yet."

I get this perverse desire to push him over the edge then, to see his handsome face get _that_ look, like the pleasure has become completely indistinguishable from pain. It's a house of mirrors at that moment for me, because he's so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him, and so it feels like I'm watching what I'm feeling, and it always takes me over the edge, too. For a suspended instant I let him hold back, but his lush eyebrows gather together in near agony and I can feel myself pulsing around him, holding him tighter in every way possible.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper hotly in his ear, and move my hips encouragingly. "Don't stop."

With a deliciously anguished moan he lets go, and I'm pretty sure that I'll have to hide some bruises from the way he grips my hips as he cries out my name.

"I love you," we whisper together, our voices already taking on the ghostly quality of a favorite memory.

I am not strong enough to contain such beauty, but the feel of him, and the promise of more moments like this keep me together for now, however precariously. I know, with a deep sharp stab of certainty, that if anything ever happens to separate us, the memory of this moment will make the rest of my life truly unbearable.

Sometimes the ache of nostalgia sets in immediately.

**~oЖo~**

On Monday, classes begin again, and a little piece of paper posted near the doors of the Opera Lab classroom informs me that I only have a minor part in the next opera scenes: I get to be Sister Constance in a scene from Poulenc's _Dialogues of the Carmelites_, which I've never even heard of. If it means less social drama and more time to study Italian, I'm all for it. Even if it means that the meanest human girls I've ever met have gotten some pretty good scenes, like the _Flower Duet_ from _Lakme. _ That's still one of the most gorgeous things I've ever heard even if it does make me think of the British Airways commercial. I'm a little bit jealous of that. And Christine gets to play Violetta for the entire first act of _La Traviata_. I can actually imagine her doing fairly well with it, too. Just because she's a heinous bitch doesn't mean she can't sing well. Plus, that means she'll have less time for the Web site.

I hope.

When I go in for my voice lesson with Dr. George, he surprises me with an apology.

"I am sorry that I couldn't be there for your performance," he says, handing me a slightly lumpy card. I hadn't even noticed his absence, what with all the vampires. "Go ahead, open it. I would have been there, but my patrons in Italy called in a favor, and I had to fly to Boston at the last minute to sing in a benefit concert. You will find that these things cannot be helped, and if you are good, you'll have to get used to a chaotic schedule. It's a good problem to have, to be in demand."

I find it weird that they would want him gone, but I imagine that over the years, Dr. George must have seen Aro enough to notice his decided lack of aging if he were to see him again.

"Comes with the territory," I say, opening the card. It's very pretty, and there's a slim electronic metronome on the inside, engraved with my name. "Thank you."

"Thank me by using it," he advises, leafing through his teaching binder. "Let's begin, shall we? On to the next adventure?"

"Professor, can we talk about something?" I ask, feeling a little nervous. I have no idea how he's going to respond to this, but it's what I need to know. "I want to talk about strategy."

He stops rifling through his binder and looks at me over the rim of his glasses.

"Strategy—" he says in this startled, half questioning tone. "What do you mean, child?"

"I mean, when I go to Volterra, they're going to expect me to be good. Like, really good. And being in the opera was kind of an eye-opener, in so many ways. I just feel like I need to be really focused on becoming, I don't know, commercially viable, maybe—as fast as possible. What I mean is that I don't want to waste any time."

While I'm bambling on, barely coherently, he starts smiling at me all sly, like he's caught me raiding the cookie jar and wants half of my spoils.

"Well, well," he says, taking off his glasses. "You got bit by the stage bug, didn't you? It's good in the bright light, isn't it?"

"Let's just say I'm feeling motivated to improve quickly," I concede, and he nods in agreement. "What should I focus on?"

"Well, you're young, but it's not like there haven't been young singers out there getting work," he muses thoughtfully. "And if you play your cards right, your looks and youth will tip the scales in your favor, especially for things like _Romeo and Juliet_, or _Manon_, where the story calls for a teenaged girl. I'm thinking of those _Puccini soubrette_ roles that could go to either a coloratura or a young lyric soprano like you."

"Okay, and I want a better high 'C'," I add, remembering the conversation with Aro. "How long will it take to get a richer sound up there?"

"Well, that's one thing that can't really be rushed," he says. "It will happen when it happens. But you've got good habits. You keep those, and it will happen sooner or later. I can give you some more challenging repertoire for the rest of the semester, though. First, let's warm up."

He goes to the piano and plays a scale and a half, much faster than I've ever sung before. I struggle to keep up at first, but then I start to get the hang of it.

"That was good," he encourages. "You got to get out of your comfort zone if you want to keep improving. Again."

I try again, attempting to do exactly what I did before, but Dr. George stops me immediately.

"Never imitate anyone, not even yourself. You are the art, and you are the artist. There is technique, yes, but it's the tool, not the work itself. I don't care how many times you've sung a line before, how many times someone else has sung it, or when it was written. The key to making it interesting is to make it new, _every time. _What is better, an original or a copy?"

"Original," I say automatically, knowing it's what he wants to hear.

"Why?" he asks.

This is harder.

"I'm not sure why, but it is true," I say, thinking of every compelling performance I had ever seen, and some that weren't for reasons I couldn't fathom. This makes me think of the old man with the violin, and why I wanted to listen to him. "Is that why some performances are technically perfect but still boring? And some performances flawed but really interesting?"

"Bingo. _Always create, _Isabella, always," he says, and for a blazing moment he looks as divine as a vampire, though I know him to be as human as I am. "In this business, you are the artist, and you are the art. When the patron calls you deal with your obligations, yes? Respect those who respect what you do enough to fund it. But the first duty is always this. Life is short, Art is long."

When Edward enters the room, Dr. George rifles through his files, mumbling something about how the Italians never want to hear any opera but their own. We barely have time to exchange a quick smile before the professor plops some music down on the piano and motions for me to come and listen when Edward starts to play.

"See, here it is, some beginner's Verdi, for you. This is an aria from _Falstaff_, and it is perfect for your voice right now; you can't muscle it, but you can use finesse and let it float away. This character is Nanette, and she uses a disguise, not brute force, to get her way. She wants to see the fairies dance, so she pretends to be their queen. Sometimes a little trickery can go a long way, you see."

He seems all animated as he does a quick demonstration of one of the high, floating lines. He does this awesome imitation of a coy young girl that immediately makes me think of Bugs Bunny singing the part of Brunnhilde in blond braids and a brass brassiere. The song really is gorgeous.

"Listen to these words, Isabella, so delicate—it will help you keep this lovely floating line if you think of them—_Sul fil d'un soffio etesio scorrete, agili larve_; 'On the breath of an Etesian breeze scurry, agile shadows'. Can you imagine it, having mythological creatures do your bidding?"

"Just barely," I say, smiling at Edward.

**~oЖo~**

Later on in the week, I'm listening to a voicemail from an OB/Gyn office, reminding me of the upcoming appointment Alice set for me, what seems a lifetime ago. I'm just about to call them back when my phone rings in my hands, startling me so much that I jump a little. The name on the screen nearly makes me drop the phone.

"Don't you dare think of cancelling that appointment, Isabella Swan." Her voice sounds really different now, like it's gone through some enhancer. But it's unmistakably her.

"Alice!" I cry, tears welling up in my eyes. "You're okay! Oh thank God, I've been so worried. Is Jasper okay, too? Wait, _are_ you okay?"

"Calm down, I'm fine," she says, laughing. "We're okay now, mostly. I don't want you ditching that appointment just because Edward's a vampire. There are many good things that will come of this appointment, and I don't want you messing it up."

"What do you mean, 'mostly'?" I ask, really not wanting to think of going to one of _those_ appointments.

"Jasper's having quite a few _Hulk Smash!_ moments since he finally recovered, but all things considered it's going pretty well," she says, and pauses. "Hey, why do I see you still not going? Bella!"

"What difference can it make? Edward is a vampire, for crying out loud. It's not like he's going to get me prego. And he'd still use protection anyway, because he's worried about venom."

"Well, okay, but you know how your hormones and cycles kind of make your voice change during the month?"

"How did you know that?" I shudder. It's not the first time I've heard it, but it makes me squeamish to think about it. Renee talks about this kind of thing all the time, but it never ceases to embarrass me.

"I've heard singers talking about it. Anyway, the point is, I saw it taking less time to convince Aro you're ready to be changed if you go on that four-periods-a-year thing. Part of it is a slight change to your voice, but most of it is about having fewer 'off' days due to your cycle."

"Wait, you can see that?" I ask, my spine straightening. "What else can you see? How soon can I get Aro to agree to my changing?"

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, following Dr. George's advice could take off three years," she says thoughtfully. "And the hormones another two. There are other factors, of course. You guys _so_ need me to keep you on track. One minute it's ten years, the next it's four, the next morning it's twenty years. Edward keeps changing his mind and getting possessive and messing everything up. Hey, speak of the devil."

Speaking of the devil, Edward knocks on my practice room door, barely waiting for me to unlock it. I click over to speakerphone, and her altered laugh fills the room as best as my speakers will allow.

"Hi Edward, you stalker. And stop worrying; I'm not mad at you. Jasper was at first when he found out. It took me a while to convince him I hadn't suffered as much as he did."

"Why haven't we heard more from Emmett and Rose?" he asks, looking more worried than he's been letting on. "Is everything okay?"

I notice something different in his expression as he listens to her. It's not an entirely unfamiliar quality, but it's hard to place.

"Everything's fine, Edward" Alice says sweetly. She seems like her usual self, except more so. "Well, it will be better once the others arrive. Rose and Emmett are really good hunters, and that helped. Jasper lost so much blood before his change, I think it made him extra thirsty. And then there's his gift."

"What do you mean?" He asks, impatient and a little testy.

So he _can't_ read their minds over the phone, at least not from this distance. Good to know. He doesn't seem to like it, though, and it dawns on me that he's usually so comfortable with Alice, but that might be because he's been reading her mind all along.

"It's all about emotions. It takes so much work to keep Jasper calm, especially when we all feel what he feels," she explains. "But this stage won't last too much longer. I think in a few months he'll be able to control those mood swings, and Rose will be able to have some time alone."

"There's going to be hell to pay when I see her next, isn't there?" Edward asks, grimacing. "Great. I owe Rose."

"Oh, she's definitely got a grievance against you," she says, giggling. "But she'll calm down by then. You're going to buy her the car she's always wanted."

"A Bugatti? Alice, we're comfortable, but we don't have that kind of money to throw around. The car she wants costs over a million dollars."

"I know, but don't worry about that. I'm having a blast testing my talent on the stock market, and I've started a fund specifically for my daddy vamp to make my auntie vamp happier about having to deal with Jasper's little temper tantrums."

"_Daddy vamp_, really?" he complains, grimacing. If looks could kill cell phones, mine would be in a million pieces right now when she laughs at him. "Fine. Make fun of me. Whatever, I guess the stock market is a useful way to practice."

"I ruined Rose's guitar trying to play it, so I had to make some money to repay her. It's kind of a hobby now, making money. Consider it my way of thanking you for helping me stay with Jasper and how amazingly fucking shiny my hair is now. God, I'm _so_ pretty. It's so cool, Bella, you're going to love it. Well, eventually. Sooner if you guys do what I tell you to do."

Edward and I glance at each other. Human Alice was impressive, and kind of bossy. Vampire Alice is downright frightening.

"Alice?" I say, but she cuts me off impatiently. She takes the words right out of my mouth.

"I'm happy to hear your voices too, guys. Edward, I'll call you later for a powwow. Kinda sucks that you can't read my mind from here, but we can speed-talk after Bella's asleep."

"Alice, we've got bigger problems than Rose's temper, as horrifying a thought as that is."

"I already know, Edward, and I know what you've decided to say. The call is for you, not me. Well, I need to make an adjustment to our academic leaves of absence, so that's for me, but it's mostly for you."

"Alice, do I need to remind you that I'm older than you and have more experience in these matters?"

"Oh, get over it. I can see the fucking future, and I'm cranky from bloodlust. Just do what I say and nobody gets hurt."

I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing as Edward frowns at the phone. He really looks like he wants to hurt it.

"I can't believe she hung up!" he complains, looking seriously put out. "I can't believe she's making me buy Rose a million dollar car."

"Don't hurt my phone," I say, snatching it from the white hot beams of his glare.

It buzzes in my hand, and I look at my new text message.

_**If you cancel that appointment, I'll drain you. XOXO –A. **_

**~oЖo~**

"You suck at tutoring, Edward," I throw my pencil down, seriously frustrated. "I wish Jasper were here."

It's been a few weeks since Alice first called, but I'm missing Jasper all the more since my theory grades started slipping a bit. It's not as bad as it was at the beginning of the year, but without Jasper's magic touch, some of my classes seem nearly impossible. Of course, nothing compared to the struggles Jasper's facing, thanks to me and the vampire magnets in my blood.

"That's ridiculous," he says, looking totally bewildered at my outburst. "I'm a vampire, which means by definition I'm good at everything, Bella. Anyway, this isn't even that hard! You're just not trying."

"That's exactly what I mean! You sound just like Dr. Coppa when I asked him about this Theory unit**—"**

"Dr. Coppa is a brilliant human, and maybe you should pay more attention in his class."

"And maybe you and Dr. Coppa never had to struggle with this because it's so easy for you that you completely lack any sympathy with those of us mere mortals who are a little slower on the uptake! Jasper never made me feel stupid for not getting it right away; he always knew how to help me."

"Well, it's just too bad for you that Jasper would rather kill you right now than give you a tutoring session, and you're stuck with me, sucky Edward!"

"Stop glaring at me! God, you are seriously freaking me out." He really is. It's kind of scary but weirdly hot at the same time. "I can't tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me right now."

His face changes abruptly at that, and his eyes narrow. Vampire wiles, in full, bad-boy effect. I know it sounds weird, but I can't help myself.

"What did you say?" he asks in a careful voice, and I think the balance has just been tipped.

I lick my lips without thinking about it, only realizing because he's watching my mouth. The look in his eyes makes my already elevated heart rate spike, and I know he can hear that. I don't know what this means for the future of our relationship, but an angry Edward is a ridiculously fuckable Edward. Maybe I should be confrontational more often.

"I said," I'm breathing pretty fast now. "Fuck me, right now."

Well, that's technically accurate, if slightly edited.

"I don't think that's such a good idea right now," he says, dangerously quiet. He's looking at my chest. I _am_ breathing kind of hard.

"Why not?" I ask, inching my way over to him. "Clearly we both need to relieve some tension, and I've heard that angry sex can be a lot of fun."

"Not if the vampire is angry at the human, Bella," he says, but he doesn't pull away from me. Now he's looking right down my shirt. "Not if the human doesn't want to get hurt."

"So, calm down," I suggest helpfully, sliding my hands under _his_ shirt. "And enjoy my ire. It's all your fault, you know, Mr. Perfect. If you weren't so goddamn beautiful and good at everything and so fucking sexy I wouldn't get angry that I have to spend my precious time doing homework instead of getting you off."

"Bella, this is not smart," he says as I unbutton his jeans. He shuts up when I kiss him hard.

"Ow," I say, pulling back with a little smile. "Okay, I see what you mean. But we both still need some release, so I'll calm down too."

I kiss him again, and free his cock, which kind of waves happily at me.

"Hello, my friend. I'm not mad at _you_ at all."

Edward laughs at me, and I start laughing too, but stroke him at the same time. His eyes roll back in his head and he starts running his hands through my hair.

"Bella, are you saying you're on better speaking terms with my penis than with me?"

I just hum in response, because it's not polite to talk with your mouth full.

**~oЖo~**

The remaining weeks of the semester go by all too quickly, especially with visits to Forks every other weekend. It's far too easy to get wrapped up in Edward, literally and figuratively. Unsurprisingly, without Jasper's help some of my grades start to slip, but I'm too focused on practicing voice and trying to learn Italian as quickly as possible to give it any more attention than just passing the other classes requires. I surprise myself by doing fairly well in piano, even though my technique always invites so much criticism from Edward. I just stop playing around him altogether, opting instead to study with Angela when she has time. That's a clear case of the blind leading the blind, but it's slightly better than no studying at all.

Alice's prediction about the effects of birth control on my voice turns out to be completely accurate. I barely notice the slight change in my voice, but Edward and Dr. George both do. In recordings, I can tell that my high notes are a little fuller, more mature sounding, and it's definitely encouraging.

The last two weeks of the semester involve all kinds of exams, from the kinds I had always expected, from the sit-down, paper-and-pencil academic finals in Music Theory and History, to my voice and piano exams, aptly and terrifyingly called _Juries._ Every performance major has to perform in front of the entire faculty for that department, and all the voice teachers are notorious for using juries to indirectly criticize the teaching techniques of their rivals. In Dr. George's case, this includes almost every other voice teacher on staff. My piano Jury goes much smoother than I remember it going at the end of the fall semester, but for some reason the Jury for voice takes much longer than expected. While they always tell you to have several selections prepared, it's fairly normal for students to sing only one or two selections. I end up singing every single selection in my repertoire, and the other teachers look pretty much stony-faced throughout my performance, which makes me feel too guarded to really get into the column. One of the other professors, the nice lady named Suzanne, is good friends with Dr. George, and they sit together, smiling broadly at me while I sing. I try to focus on their faces to keep my nerves from wrecking everything, at least until I get to the Verdi.

It's the third out of the eight songs I end up singing for the exam, and until that moment I've kept up a workmanlike pace, getting through the first two songs purely on decent technique, singing the correct notes and words, but not really connecting to the music. Something about Verdi pulls me through, though, and instead of trying to defend against the unflinching, unresponsive faces of the other professors, I start feeling that familiar pull from Edward at the piano, and allow the music to take over. I make a little mistake in the first stanza, but the column takes over completely and nothing else matters.

I'm vaguely aware of Dr. George's smile transforming from perfunctory to genuine, but it's just a nice touch compared with the beauty and grace that come with this feeling. Time passes in a stretch both languid and fervent, and I flush with embarrassment to discover that, at the end of the last song, the stone faces of the jury have all taken on various forms of passion: excitement, lust, jealousy, hate. I'm a little stunned by the transformation and I feel defensive again as we exit the stage, mentally shutting out anything but Edward. I ask him about it right after we exit the stage.

"What on earth were they thinking? Do I even want to know?"

"Don't worry, you'll get an A. They always throw out the highest and lowest grade for a reason, Bella."

"Yeah, but it's still a little overwhelming," I say, bewildered. "Four of them seemed totally—I don't know—impassive, at first? Then they were all weird after, and I don't know why."

"Think about it," he urges, but the two friendliest jurors walk up to us before I can formulate a response.

"Altogether well done, Isabella," Dr. George says, clasping me by the shoulders. "You had me a little worried at first, but came around nicely with the Verdi. You need to control that stage presence, though. Turn it on before you step one foot on that stage, and keep it on at least until you hit that exit sign. I can't believe you just let it drop like that."

"Stage presence?" I ask, a little offended at the suggestion that something as sacred as the column can be turned on and off like a light switch. "It's not something I have total control over, Dr. George."

"There are ways, kid. Don't get snippy—you want to know how to get commercially viable, don't you? This is the fast track, little girl. You want on it or not?"

I look at Edward, and he nods encouragingly. Whatever Dr. George is thinking, he agrees with it, or at least there's some merit to it. Alice did say that following his advice would shave three years off my wait to become a vampire, for my frozen age to be closer to Edward's. I'm determined to get there in two years, if not sooner.

"Yes, sir," I say, squaring my chin. "Fast track, please."

"Come on, we can discuss it over lunch."

**~oЖo~**

The last opera laboratory class involves wrapping up group critiques of individuals, and it happens to be my day to perform an aria, as well as Christine's. We get graded not only on our own performances, but also the perceived validity of our oral critiques of the other students. Dr. Adana has a reputation for giving students barely passing grades if they trash good performances or praise faulty ones, and people tend to be unflinchingly honest as a result. Friendships have been known to crumble in this exercise.

I apply Dr. George's new advice to getting into the column long before Edward's fingers hit the keys to the opening of my Verdi aria. It starts hours before class begins, practicing in my mind as well as with Edward in the physical world. People try to talk to me, but I find myself just barely able to interact with them as I struggle to keep myself in the zone. I've got a whole playlist of music in my iPod that keep me in the right frame of mind, and it's helpful in avoiding people. Half of it is Edward playing my favorite piano pieces. I have no idea when he records them, but I think he adds them to my playlist while I sleep. Every time I find a new one I kiss every one of his fingertips before kissing his smiling lips.

I look at those smiling lips when it's my turn to sing, and I know the column is there, waiting for me even before he plays a single note. I can feel it. It's almost architectural: as real as a house or car, if you have the right keys to get in. Dr. George knows what he's talking about, and I slip into the Verdi as I would my own truck. I know I hit the proverbial ball out of the park when the same girls who devoted a Web site to my general suckage as a human being and singer are forced to say nice things about my performance, or risk their grades. They'd probably risk them anyway had I not gone against my own nausea and given honest critiques about their performances as well. I'll admit, it's kind of gratifying.

Angela had accused them of being no-talent hags, but that was mainly her loyalty talking. None of them would have gotten past the audition for the conservatory and the opera lab had they not been decent singers. I truly have nothing but good things to say about the Flower Duet, and so I just pretend that they're total strangers while giving their voices compliments. They are, virtually, total strangers after all, and Dr. George has warned me that if everything goes well, I'll have to put up with a lot of this crap for the rest of my life, so I might as well learn to be gracious about it early on.

When Christine sings "Sempre Libera" from _La Traviata, _I go so far as to close my eyes while she sings. As much as I hate her, the song is incredibly powerful, and she does a decent job with it. Of course I've heard it before, but I've never heard it sung live, and I'm overcome with an almost irrational desire to learn this particular aria, to make it mine. I know enough Italian to work out that the song is about the joys of freedom, and love. I hate it that this exquisite music is coming from someone I dislike so intensely, but it doesn't change how I feel about the song. Using my phone, I look up the lyrics while she still sings. The words are pretty much what I thought they were, and it's everything I want in music and life—the freedom to live and love completely. Alfredo's line in particular, sung during the opera, brings tears to my eyes.

Knowing the meaning of the words brings on a new dimension to the aria, and I find myself moved to tears. I'm nervous even, worried that Dr. George will tell me that the aria is too big for my voice type, and I use my phone to try to look it up and see if it's in my _fach_. I really don't understand the whole _fach _thing anyway, because people often disagree about what belongs where except for the most obvious roles, so I just look up the singers Dr. George has compared me to in the past, and I find the aria connected with every one of their names on Youtube. I wonder if Aro likes this opera and make a mental note to try to find out. I almost don't care if he likes it or not. I'm going to ask him about it. My phone buzzes, and I notice a new text from Alice.

_**Good plan. That's another five years in your favor. **_

Five years. _Five years?_ That's, like, eight years saved already, making it a minimum of ten Aro is planning to make us wait. Minimum. It almost makes me sick to think of how long he's really been planning to hold out on me and how much he wants us for the guard. My mind drifts back to the aria, and I wonder how long it will take me to be able to sing like this. At least a year before I even try, I think, feeling frustrated already. The song takes exactly those elements I currently lack: flexibility and an amazing high note somewhere around a C or higher. I hope it doesn't take longer than a year.

When it's time for the critiques, Dr. Adana calls on me right away. He seems annoyed and curious.

"Miss Swan, what do you have to say? Or were you too engrossed in your phone to pay attention?"

"I was looking up the lyrics," I admit. "It was really stunning. Gorgeous, full high note, fluid coloratura passages like quicksilver, just full and fast and liquid and lovely," I add in an embarrassingly gushy tone. Christine looks kind of smug and bitchy, and I still kind of want to punch her in the face, but that's totally unimportant compared to my need to learn this music, and master it as I did the _Falstaff _aria.

"Okay, so what are the lyrics?" he challenges, clearly not convinced I wasn't just playing some game. As if I could play with this fucking amazing music happening in the same room.

I read the words directly off my phone without having to push a button, and he visibly relaxes, since I was obviously telling the truth. Everyone seems surprised by my enthusiasm, including Edward. His eyebrows quirk expressively and I shrug, helpless against my new obsession. Honestly, it could have been anybody singing this song, and I probably would have reacted the same way.

"I just … love this song, and she did a good job with it," I mumble later, when we're alone. "God, that song! I just have to learn it. It kills me that I'm not ready for it yet."

"That explains it," he says, laughing. "I can't believe you had anything good to say about that awful woman. The song, yes, _that_ I can understand. There should be a word for that kind of desire to learn a particular piece, like wanderlust for the urge to travel. I've gotten obsessed with many pieces, and have been really happy that I never have to sleep. Good aria to fixate on, by the way. It's one of Aro's favorite arias."

"I know, Alice said it would take five years off our waiting time."

"Five?" he asks, looking determined but unsurprised. He's got his game face on, a fierce, calculating expression I'm getting used to. "That's a good chunk of time. That will help."

I know he and Alice discuss his plans for our survival in Volterra, and I know from talking to him that much of their process takes place in the lightning-fast planes of vampiric minds. It usually leaves me feeling a bit left out, though much of this pre-planning stage leaves everyone out except for the two of them. After hearing some of the more violent aspects of what Edward is willing to do to protect me, I've decided I'd rather not know until lots of totally disturbing options have been eliminated. I don't think it's all that mature to bury my head in the sand and say "I don't want to know", but after one of Alice's rather graphic descriptions of the Volturi's feeding habits, I really don't want to know some of that stuff.

The idea of my own ability to make a non-violent contribution to solving our dilemma gives me something to focus my considerable nervous energy on.

"I want to learn that aria, Edward. I'm glad it's going to help earn our freedom from them, but it isn't just that. It _is_ that, and more. I do want to be able to sing like that. And it's perfect, so beautiful, especially Alfredo's line—it's how I feel about us, something I've felt but never before had the words to say, exactly."

I try to remember the exact wording and reach for my phone with the lyrics saved on it, but he puts his hand over mine. In his dark eyes I find everything I feel—the longing, the urgency of our situation, but most of all, the powerful twin bonds that connect us. I feel like the two of us have been launched out into a dangerous ocean beyond his experience, let alone mine, in a tiny boat with storms ahead and warnings of dragons written into the only maps available to us. Most of it doesn't even seem real to me; certainly it doesn't seem reasonable. Love and music are the only things that make any kind of sense, and so I cling to both as my only oars.

_  
"Love is a pulse throughout the universe, mysterious, altering, the torment and delight of my heart,_" he says, threading his fingers through mine, interlocking warm and cool flesh. "I know."

**~oЖo~**

**End of Act I**

**A/N:**** Next up: Italy. Sorry I have been so long between updates for the last few chapters. That's what happens when I'm on crazy out-of-town work projects. I have none planned for a while, and some serious downtime scheduled in the next three weeks, as well as a juicy outline (well, my version of an outline) for Act II. I'm hoping this translates into a more regular updating schedule.**

**Get anything good in your stocking?**


	25. Here There Be Dragons

**Part II: Volterra**

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**Chapter 25: Here There Be Dragons**

**Thanks to rockin' beta NelsonSmandela, Feisty & Algie for the music, and Scarlett for helping find my missing puzzle piece. Special thanks to Camilla10, a reader (and excellent writer on Twilighted) from Italy who has very generously offered her help in keeping my version of Italy as authentic as possible. Mille grazie, cara mia. Big, big thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, tweets, and recommends this story. I read every single review and am very grateful to you all.**

**For Italian translations and WTF notes, please see A/N below chapter. Yes, I know. At least I don't put them mid-chapter, too. Oh, and as usual, the Twilighted thread for Canzone has pictures and music.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, no matter how much time I spend with them.**

**Chapter Music:**

**Paolo Conte: **_**Via Con Me**_

**http://www dot youtube dot com/watch?v=y5IaFoXe-QU&feature=player_embedded**

**Itzhak Perlman plays Paganini: **_**Caprices 04 & 13**_** "The Devil's Laughter"**

**http://www dot youtube dot com/watch?v=JvGIJgU3t-w**

**Anna Moffo sings Gounoud's "Je veux vivre" from the opera**_** Roméo et Juliette**_

**http://www dot youtube dot com/watch?v=QSn2fXC8Vb4**

**~oЖo~**

Even though I know we're totally safe from accidents and the police, Edward's driving scares the crap out of me. So I play with the radio dial of the rental car we picked up at the airport in Pisa, anything to distract myself. Electronica, no. Men talking about sports (I'm almost certain), pass. Europop, no… talking that sounds like the cadence of a Catholic mass in any language, yes, they've just responded and sound like a body of people changing positions all at once, faintly groaning wood in the background. No. Sorry, Grandma Swan, wherever you are. I love you,but I'm changing stations. Looking for classical, I hesitate when I hear some faintly upbeat piano music and the deep voice of a man who half sings, half speaks. I've heard this song before, maybe in a movie. I can't remember what it is but it suits my mood, so I let it play.

"Sunflowers!" I cry, stunned by the surreal scene through the tinted windshield. I roll down my window to get the full-color effect. "A whole field of them! Look at how they're all facing the sun. I mean, I know they do, but to see a whole field of them, every single one of the flower faces turned towards the sun, it's almost bizarre, to think of plants moving and responding like that."

I close my eyes for a moment and soak in the bright Italian sun. I'm too excited to feel jet lag, and the trip from Pisa to Volterra has too much gorgeous scenery. I find myself singing along to the music, knowing all the words, even though I still can't place where I've heard the song. In my mind I can see Renee singing along, mumbling and butchering the Italian parts but singing full-voiced whenever the words switch to English in the chorus. _You could study in France_,she says clearly, curiously in my memory. I know Edward could probably clear it up for me, but I want to remember on my own.

"You're doing it, too," he says in his quiet voice, and I smile before opening my eyes. "Turning your face to the sun."

When I look at him, his answering smile seems slightly strained. I realize that he's got to keep in the shadows, and I'm reluctant to enjoy something he can't.

"Oh, sorry," I sigh sadly, pushing the button to raise the window. "I wasn't thinking about other cars passing by."

"Don't," he says, reaching over to still my hand. "You looked so happy just now. Keep your window down, at least."

He smiles at me, a small, sweet smile, genuine and temporary. I keep quiet, because it feels both good and unnerving to enjoy the sun when Edward cannot. I don't tell him how much I've missed the sun, how I nearly forgot my preference for a sunny climate after five years of living in Washington State. I don't know if I'm supposed to hide my pleasure or not. The warmth on my face feels like it's separating us, so I lean back in a little, and let my hand surf in the air just outside the window, my gaze traveling from the flowers to Edward's troubled face and back again.

"You look worried," I observe.

"You're not? After what Alice told us? After what we agreed to do?"

"Of course I'm concerned. And we didn't agree to do anything that horrible. I'm just glad I don't have to worry about lying."

Alice had given us very clear instructions about how we were to behave with the Volturi, Aro in particular. Technically, she did give us a choice in the matter, but it wasn't much of a choice. My part is easier, mostly because it involves following my natural inclinations. Too bad Alice didn't tell him to be a moody fucker, because he's doing brilliantly so far. Ever since we left Jacksonville. Maybe he just misses my mother. I'd laugh at the thought, despite his crankiness.

Edward scowls at me.

"Are you still angry that Alice thinks you won't be able to fool Aro?"

I'm kind of shocked that Edward can fool anyone, but I guess he relies on mind-reading to make sure people believe him.

"I'm an excellent liar," he mutters resentfully. "But Alice is right. Aro's had three thousand years of infallible lie-detecting. If a little honesty in the beginning keeps his hands off me, it's worth it."

I shudder and roll up my window instinctively. Volterra's medieval buildings, with bricks so golden-beige they look like they could've been fashioned from sand and light, wait for us on a hilltop in the distance. Between the warmth of the afternoon sun, the bright blue sky, the army of yellow flowers, and the brilliance of Volterra, you'd never think there were such things as shadows, let alone vampires.

Something tells me that the city itself holds more lies than Edwardcould have experienced in a mere century.

**~oЖo~**

The apartment Esme scouted out for us is close enough to the school for Edward to be able to come and go during daylight hours, as long as the sun isn't directly overhead. Still, he's got jackets with wide collars and hats and gloves, just in case. When we finally arrive, it's late afternoon, and the smallish square outside our apartment building holds exquisitely golden slanting rays of sun as well as long shadows of buildings.

I wait outside, sitting on our luggage, enjoying another moment in the sunshine while Edward gets the key and talks to our downstairs neighbor, an old lady who invites him in. It takes him a little longer than expected, and a young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, decides that I am lost and it is his mission in life to help me. He starts speaking to me in rapid Italian, and I can only make out the first couple of sentences. After that the words all run together and I find it difficult to keep up.

"Signorina? Signorina, vuoi un aiuto? Tu non sei di qui, vero?" he says with a flirtatious smile. I know enough Italian to know he sounds polite and friendly, if a little familiar.

He reminds me a little of Mike Newton, before I redirected his attentions to a more willing classmate. It's too bad Jessica isn't here now. As much as she annoys me, she'd get this guy off me in no time.

"Grazie, ma no," I stumble on the words, feeling shy and slightly intimidated by my linguistic incompetence. I just want to tell him, politely, to bug off. "Non è necessario. Sono qui con il mio—"

"Forse hai bisogno di una guida turistica?" he interrupts brightly, offering his help before I can tell him I've got a boyfriend. A fiancé, I mean. What's the word for fiancé? "Vieni, lascia che ti aiuti. Conosco un posto dove si può dormire la notte."

And I'm lost. I hear all the words, but I have no idea what he's saying.

He offers to take my bags, even going so far as to pick up one of the heavier suitcases, making a big show of how heavy it is. I'm sure I look confused, which probably only encourages him. I don't mean to, I'm just trying to figure out what to say to make him leave me alone. He's not scary, just kind of … overwhelmingly friendly, and I'd rather not be rude to the first Italian in Volterra who tries to help me. Edward has no such qualms, apparently, as he rushes out toward us, looking furious.

"La mia fidanzata non ha bisogno del tuo aiuto," he growls rapidly as he stalks toward us. "Va a molestare qualcun altro."

He doesn't remotely seem to be worried about the sun, so I abandon the luggage to meet him in the shadows before he can get too close. Did he just say _molest? _I shake my head, vaguely recalling hotel 'Do not disturb' signs in English and Spanish using a variation of the word, like _molesto_. Okay, so probably not molest, but disturb. That's okay.

"What are you doing? You look like you're going to attack him. Come on, you're totally overreacting." I whisper as I wrap my arms around his neck, allowing him to hold me possessively. "Would you please relax? He's human; it's broad daylight. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm."

"You don't know what he was thinking," he hisses in my ear, glaring at the man. "Trust me, you don't want to, either."

"Was I in any serious danger?" I ask, frowning as I watch my would-be tour guide beat a leisurely retreat. He looks curious, and more than a little cautious now, but not dangerous at all. "I mean, he was persistent, but I didn't feel threatened. You scared me more than he did. I mean, what would have happened if he had seen you in the sun?"

"He wouldn't have lived long enough to notice," he says with quiet menace, adjusting his hat to an angle most shielding him from the sun.

Which, may I say, Edward in a hat, especially at a rakish tilt, looks like some 1940s movie star. And while part of me acknowledges how attractive he is, anger and all, another part of me feels warning bells in the distance. This isn't remote Washington, after all. We are in the lap of the Volturi, who care about appearances.

He grabs all our luggage, managing the heavy bulk easily. The man, clearly fluent in the universal language of testosterone, has the good sense to look appropriately afraid, and scurries away from my freakishly strong protector's murderous glare.

"Is it wise to display your strength like that?" I ask, keeping my voice low. "Someone could be looking out a window right now."

"Nobody is looking," he says. "I would know."

I'm not so sure about that. In a human world? Yes. In the capitol of vampires, two of whom have managed to escape Edward's notice already? Who knows how many other vampires besides Aro and Jane can control their thoughts? Now's not the time to bring it up, though. Edward looks like he's about to snap.

"What was he thinking, anyway?" He looks at me in surprise when I ask, so I hasten to clarify. "I mean, just now, when he got scared and ran off? Does he have any idea of what you are? Do people here suspect anything?"

"He's afraid of me, and worries that I will follow him," he says thoughtfully. "He associates me with the Volturi already, at least subconsciously. They are known here, and feared, but not for what they truly are. People know better than to speculate aloud. He won't be back."

Somehow I don't think this is just about one human trying to pick me up. Edward has been increasingly anxious since our arrival in Italy, and it feels like this is the first excuse he's had to vent his considerable temper.

"Come on, we should call Renee to let her know we made it," I say lightly, attempting to change the subject. "I feel so guilty for separating you two."

"We should call her," he says, relaxing a little at the mention of her name.

They were thick as thieves the previous week during our visit to Florida, usually bent over an old photo album, or watching home movies from my childhood. Usually the videos they watched involved me being stubborn about something, or singing and dancing for various school productions. Renee's standard response to my infrequent temper tantrums seemed to be to hit the record button on a camera, and she always made videos of shows so she could have them copied and sent to Charlie. Edward couldn't get enough of her memorabilia from my childhood, and they bonded over it, much to my chagrin.

"You know, you never told me what her mind is like," I remind him as we make our way up a spiral staircase. "You promised to tell."

"She's sweet, and optimistic. She's always got a song in her head," he says, smiling in spite of himself now. "Usually something upbeat, something you can dance to. And she thinks in pictures, mostly, and metaphors. Everything reminds her of something else, and often it results in some really insightful thoughts, or at least something amusing. Her mind is fascinating, really. She's very creative. It's like she has the mind of an artist, without having any specific talent to channel her creativity."

"Yeah?" I ask, relieved. I don't know what I expected. More confusion, I guess, but everything sounds like her to a 't'. "No wonder she's so restless. She loves you," I add unnecessarily.

"Not nearly as much as she loves you. She's very proud of you. I think she likes me so much only because I make you smile."

"Oh please, you know she finds you adorable." I roll my eyes, thinking about our recent visit. He knows how often she whispered to me about how handsome and polite he is, how gorgeous and well-mannered. Did she mention gorgeous and handsome, too?

"_He's so pretty!" _she had whispered to me on more than one occasion during our weeklong visit, thinking him out of earshot.

Normally, I know Edward would get annoyed with that kind of attention, but he seemed to find it charming in Renee. She dusted off the upright piano that hadn't been touched since I left for Forks, and begged him to play, and for me to sing. So, for the better part of the week, we spent most of our time either playing music with her gazing adoringly at us both, or walking down memory lane. It was bittersweet for me, knowing it could very well be the last chance I ever get to spend any real time with my mom. I was unusually affectionate with her as a result, and made it a point to walk on the beach with her every morning while Edward pretended to sleep.

Finally we make it to our own door and Edward opens it somehow without setting any of the luggage down. After some awkward groping of the wall I find not a light switch but a window, and manage to open it. Light floods into the apartment, and it's much nicer than Edward's old one at school. It's also not nearly as modern, but the furniture is new and lovely, dark woods and modern in comparison to the architecture, but somehow blending in at the same time. A gorgeous baby grand piano sits in an excellent spot, at the farthest corner of the apartment where only our downstairs neighbor will hear, a lady Esme assures us is partially deaf and a lover of classical music as well.

There's a massive bouquet on our dining table, full of bright flowers, ivy with white curling tendrils, and delicate ferns, sitting in a large, expensive-looking vase.

"Is this another one of Aro's oh-so-meaningful bouquets?" I ask, eyeing the familiar-looking envelope resting against the elegant vase as if it were a rattlesnake. I'd know that stationery anywhere.

"If it is, it's a gesture of friendship," he says, opening the note and reading it in a quick scan. His mouth settles into a thin line before he looks at me, and continues in a quiet voice. "I hope. He wants to meet us tonight. First with him alone, then he will present us formally to the Volturi. We're to dress for the occasion and be prepared to perform."

~oЖo~

Hand in hand, we walk as quickly as my heels will allow down the narrow, steep streets paved with irregular rectangular stones. The surface is incredibly uneven, and I find myself getting more and more embarrassed as the old, clumsy Bella I used to be seems to be out in full force. When I stumble for the third time, Edward puts his arm around my waist.

"Lean on me more," Edward whispers, and I gratefully accept his steadying arm.

"I feel drunk," I confess in a hushed tone. "I didn't know I'd need sea legs just to walk around here. I should have worn flats."

With the way the streets twist around here, I feel disoriented, and the soft moonlight and warm glow of random lights on building walls don't do much to help me keep my bearings. I feel as though we're traveling through time, and half expect to run into a group of medieval monks at any moment. Instead we only see the occasional tourist and quite a few locals.

"Almost there," he says as we turn a new corner. This street has bright lights at least, and feels more modern.

"Where are we?" I ask, and am immediately distracted by the sound of a violin playing somewhere nearby, off to the left, beyond a high wall.

Unlike the old busker in Seattle, this violinist knows what to do with the instrument. I don't recognize the tune, but it's soft and plaintive. I feel compelled to follow it, and try to see over the wall. When I look at Edward, his face reflects the same kind of grim determination he had while reading the invitation.

"Aro?" I ask, and he nods.

Soon we come to the end of the highest part of the wall, and he easily lifts me over where some shadows hide us. I am speechless at the sight before me.

Ruins.

Ruins of something ancient—an arena or a theater, maybe. It takes me a second to realize that I've seen this from another angle, on a flat, glossy page, the photograph taken in sunlight. Roman ruins of a theater, I realize. It's well lit for night, yellowish sodium lights illuminating various architectural points. During the day there would be tourists, but at night we are alone, save for the lone vampire and his violin, standing improbably high between two columns of what was once an impressive stage, his sleek black hair shining as he plays. The song turns whimsical and festive as we make our way down the steep hill, as though he senses our presence.

Whenever I see a historical building or ruin I always automatically play a game that Renee taught me when I was little. First, try to imagine it as it was when first built, shiny and new. Usually, it's easy; you just have to imagine people with different clothing hanging around, and some horses. With ruins like this, it's much harder. Never has it been so difficult, except for the Roman baths near the Sorbonne in Paris. The imagination must flex, expand to see this place as new. My mind automatically rebuilds, adding columns in classical symmetry to the ones remaining, a stage, more stones, walls, and finally seats filled with men in togas, maybe women, too, in old Roman veils and gowns. I can almost hear them shouting, my imagination propped up by old Technicolor movies probably laughable in their inaccuracy. I get chills imagining the graceful vampire in front of me displaying his innate musicality in this historical context. He was here, even then. He has outlasted marble and stone.

As I have imagined with Edward, so my mind does now with Aro, time racing even faster forward while the new theater slowly collapses into the reality of what it is today, eroded like an old memory, until all that is left are fragments of images, filled in by imagination, and faultily at that. Aro's memory would be perfect, though. His memory of all of it, and there's so much that I feel dizzy even making an attempt. Through the height of the Roman Empire, no one believing such a mighty force could be brought down, then the decline, with mad Emperors and raiding Goths. Dark Ages, Middle Ages, hundreds of years falling away, marked in crumbling theater walls and stones carried away by workmen to build other things. Countless monks and the Holy Roman Empire, the powerful Medici, the Renaissance, and moveable type. The birth of protestant Northern Europe, the birth of opera at the dawn of the 1600s. Some forty years later, when this building had crumbled past recognition and Aro's eyes had turned milky with advanced age, even for a vampire, Carlisle Cullen was born.

Edward's entire existence must seem like a day to him in comparison with his own timeline. Mine must be like a blink of his eye. In my eyes, Aro standing against the backdrop of moon and stars seems almost as permanent as they are, a god fixed in the firmament. I know from Carlisle and Eleazar that many vampires have existed in this time, and have not survived the occasional struggles that vampires have. Only a handful are Aro's age or older. What must it take to survive, and rule such creatures? What kind of mind can tell a world full of vampires what to do, and expect obedience? As grateful as I am for Eleazar's reading list, it almost seems like bringing a knife to a gunfight. Fortunately for us, there's Alice, as unsettling as her advice has been.

The violin begins to almost laugh, and I wonder how he can play so quickly and seem so still, until, I feel Edward flinch. Now the air holds only the memory of the notes and the suddenly present natural sounds of night in Volterra: leaves whooshing in the breeze, people laughing in the distance, a bicycle bell. In what feels like the same instant, Aro stands merely two arms' length from us, my brain barely having registered the end of the piece. His face is relaxed, though his milky eyes hold an eager, childlike curiosity. He does not try to touch either one of us, but merely holds his bow in one hand and the violin in the other, in an open gesture of expectation.

"You play beautifully," I manage to say in lieu of applause. I think my racing pulse is applause enough.

"Carlisle's memories of your playing don't do you justice," Edward says a moment later, his tone level and cordial. "Paganini, interesting choice of music."

"He played this very violin," Aro says with a Cheshire cat smile for both of us. "And I daresay I have improved since Carlisle last heard me. I learned much by watching Niccolò Paganini, the virtuoso himself. He was one of my greatest successes as a patron of the arts. Your impending stay has inspired me to revisit some of my most cherished memories, and I thought it might be pleasant to share some with you now. This last one was named for me, you see. I'm quite proud of it."

"_The Devil's Laughter_?" Edward laughs softly in spite of himself, and I'm reminded of Carlisle's comment about Aro's charm and humor. I relax a little bit, and smile tentatively. Aro transfers the bow to his left hand, and politely reaches out to me.

"Isabella, you look lovely this evening. May I?" he asks, and I step forward.

I hold my hand out to him, and he takes it gently, holding it with that same look of expectation he had the first time he touched me. This time, however, there is no disappointment, only a gentle curiosity.

"How do you like Italy so far?" he asks, and I sense he truly wants to know.

"It's beautiful. So sunny and warm," I gush. "Volterra seems like something out of a fairy tale."

He turns to speak to Edward, but keeps my hand in his. He touches the Cullen crest on my bracelet, and tilts his head curiously.

"And how is Carlisle, and the rest of your family?"

"They are well. Carlisle sends his regards," Edward replies with a nod as formal as his words.

"In the past few months I have tried to see things from your point of view, young Edward," Aro says thoughtfully, his hand cooler than the night breeze. His skin somehow feels thinner than paper and stronger than marble all at once. I can't explain it, even to myself. "And I must say, that had I done so ahead of time, we might have started out on better footing. I asked to meet with you in private first, as an attempt to make myself clear, in hopes of an improved beginning."

I turn my head to see Edward nod again in my peripheral vision.

"I would like that as well," he agrees, his eyes on my hand in Aro's. "Carlisle has only spoken well of you in the past."

"Yes, that is among the things I would like to discuss, though we don't have time to go over everything at once, unfortunately. I realize that I have inadvertently offended my dear friend, and I wish to make amends. Carlisle is one of the only creatures I have ever known to want nothing from me apart from my friendship. His is a rare mind, don't you think?"

"The rarest," Edward states, a hint of suspicion creeping into his tone.

"And yours, your mind is rare, too," Aro continues, either missing or ignoring Edward's shift. "I would hate to think that I lost the chance to compare notes with the only mind I've ever met who could remotely understand my own."

At this Edward remains completely silent, as Aro brings my hand near his lips, merely the formality, the ghost of a kiss.

"And Isabella, her mind, too, mysterious and silent. Did you, Edward, feel as I have upon encountering her silence? Frustration, and then, surprisingly … relief?"

Alice told us he would ask this question, down to the exact wording. And Edward had promised to answer truthfully. Aro watches us both carefully.

"Yes," Edward agrees, with some difficulty. "Bella's silence has been both a comfort and a torment to me. At first, it was frustrating not to know what she was thinking, but now, generally, I find it quite soothing to enjoy her company and silence at the same time."

"You surprise me with your candor, Edward," Aro laughs, delighted. "I hope you do not mind me telling you what a relief it is to touch flesh, human or vampire, without the onslaught of memory, thought, and confusion that always comes with it. With Isabella, it's just warm human skin. It is a shock to look into her eyes**—**_your _eyes, excuse me, my dear, for you are present, after all—and find intelligence there, when your touch says nothing at all."

"Tell me, Isabella," he asks thoughtfully. "How do you find Italians in general? So much more relaxed than the Romans of my human life. I prefer, as you will see, my civilization to be a bit more formal."

I hesitate, but remember what Alice said. _It isn't giving him a weapon, Bella. He wants you to be comfortable._ I take a deep breath.

"I'm not quite used to it yet," I confess. "Everyone seems very friendly, but I'm not used to the constant invasion of my own personal space yet. It makes me nervous."

His eyes flicker to our hands, and he finally lets go.

"Oh, not you! I didn't mean you," I say, blushing furiously, though I do feel relief in the absence of his touch. "I meant at the airport, mostly. We were going to take a bus here, but I got so anxious with the jostling that Edward insisted we rent a car instead."

"I preferred it as well," Edward adds softly. "I was pleasantly surprised when you agreed so quickly."

"It should never have crossed your mind to travel in a bus filled with _people._" Aro says with some distaste. He looks at Edward closely again. "And what of Volterra? How do you find the good citizens of my hometown?"

I look at Edward, silently begging him to follow the plan and tell the truth.

"I'm also not quite used to it yet," Edward confesses, his face tense even with the memory. "I'm afraid that when it comes to Bella, I tend to overreact, as you know from our previous experience. While it has always been difficult for me to ignore the lewd thoughts of men who find Bella attractive, it seems to be much harder to refrain from ripping the arms off of those who actually go so far as to pursue and touch her as well. I fear that Italy will prove to be quite a challenge for me in this regard."

"Again, you surprise me with your honesty, Edward. I am most encouraged," Aro murmurs. "Naturally I already knew about your encounter with the young man outside your building."

Edward's face shows genuine surprise, and Aro stares at him in fascination.

"You'll find very little happens in Volterra that I don't know about," he says, smiling now. "I'm inclined to reward you for your openness, Edward. You and Isabella. What if I told you that I can make it so that you never have to worry about Isabella's safety as long as you're here? Whether it's among vampires or humans, I can give her automatic protection, and nobody will harm her? In fact, people and vampires alike would fear for her safety so much that they would protect her almost as vigilantly as you do yourself. What would you say to that, Edward? It wouldn't cost you very much. Just a handshake."

Edward's stillness takes on a charged sort of energy, his intensity that of a great cat ready to spring. Alice didn't tell us that Aro would offer anything like this, only that Edward would be sorely tempted by something, and what he must say afterward. Aro smiles, as only the devil can when he offers you your heart's desire.

"As much as it pains me to say this, Aro, as much as I want that," he says, looking tortured. "I cannot allow you to touch me. I am bound by natural obligation, and by oath. I hold not only my own thoughts, but a century's worth of thoughts and secrets not freely given to me. I gave my word, and I'm bound to it."

Aro's smile falls, and I see the predator behind the mask of welcome, just for an instant, a flash.

Then it's all cold civility.

"A noble sentiment," Aro's voice drips with sarcasm, his posture now regal and angry. "You're telling me you would _want_ to give me access to your thoughts, if they were yours alone?"

"No, of course not," Edward snaps, suddenly eager to tell the truth. "I don't want you in my head, and I certainly don't want anyone to have intimate knowledge of Bella through my memories. But yes, if you could offer me a guarantee of her safety, I would give even that. I would share _that_ … with you … to know that she is well protected."

"You are not Carlisle Cullen," Aro whispers after a moment's silence. "But you are, in a way, his son. You have been honest with me, Edward, beyond my expectations. I will think it over during the performance. Let's say, for the sake of argument, if I were to grant this protection, you would both do me one honor in return?"

"What is it?" Edward asks, completely focused on Aro's face.

_Aro must be controlling his thoughts quite well right now, and he knows it. He's enjoying this._

He opens his mouth, inhaling silence, as though tasting the air between us. I wonder if he can savor Edward's desperation. Or worse yet, if my blood calls to him as well. A shiver runs through me before I can stop it, and Edward puts his arm around me protectively.

"If I do this, you must allow me to show you what true civilization among our kind looks like," Aro says, pleasant again. "No, I won't ask you to change your diet, though you are certainly welcome to change of your own accord at any time. I've taken the liberty of stocking two private game reserves just outside of town for the sake of your _alternative lifestyle_. It isn't a true forest, but I know you don't want to venture so far from Isabella's side while you're here. No, I mean that I want you to truly open your mind to this unique experience. To not be so quick to dismiss the opportunity you have in my standing offer to join the guard while you are here studying music. Can you give me at least that?"

I look at Edward, and he nods.

"I can," he says. "If it means Bella's safety."

"Isabella?" Aro asks.

"Of course," I say. "I can do that."

The moment I say it, however, I feel a little hollow about it. Does this make me complicit in the murders they commit? Do I really have a choice? I'm a little troubled by the question, and decide to ask Edward later. Aro, on the other hand, seems satisfied with our responses.

"Perhaps, then, if you've earned it. We shall see tonight," he says, looking at me with frank challenge. "I hope you've been practicing, my dear. For now, follow Jane, everyone."

I feel Edward stiffen in surprise beside me as the small, intimidating girl steps out of the shadows, followed closely by a male vampire I've never seen before, dark beneath his inhuman pallor, looking as though he could have come from almost anywhere in the Mediterranean. Alice made no mention of this, whether or not she saw it. Aro watches as we walk by, following Jane into an ancient tunnel beneath the ruins.

**~oЖo~**

We walk for a while through the well-kept tunnel, and I wonder how old it is. Edward's arm never leaves my shoulders, and I stumble only once, just a little. Jane eyes me curiously in the dim light when it happens.

"You're just a human," she says in a childish voice, as if realizing something. "I can still hurt you, you know."

"I know," I say quietly. _As if I could forget the big freakin' bruise you left on my arm, Bad Seed._

We finally pass through doors, and hallways, and finally we arrive in a big room, classical in structure. It's filled with vampires, looking like a pack of vicious supermodels, and a piano in the center of the room. There's a dais on one side, where Marcus and Caius sit unnaturally still, waiting in two of three great chairs underneath words carved in marble near the ceiling overhead:

_Ars Longa, Vita Brevis_

Art is long, life is short. Aro notices me looking at the words and pauses on the way to sit down.

"Do you know what it means, Isabella?" he asks. It feels like a prologue to our formal lessons.

"I know what it means to humans," I say. "Dr. George says it frequently."

"Does he now? Good for him. He knows his place after all. What does it mean for humans, Isabella?" He speaks as if we are the only ones in the room. I try to pretend we are, except for Edward, of course.

"It means that art has meaning in life, more meaning than life itself even, because in a hundred years, nobody will care about anything else we did but the stories we told and the art and music we made. Well, that and what we could learn about science and nature, what we could invent, but the phrase doesn't address science."

"Well said," he says, smiling. I'm not done, though.

"I'm trying to figure out," I pause, surprised by my own nerve. "What it means to immortal creatures, like you."

"And your thoughts?" he asks, his smile fading, as though I've breached some unspoken rule of tact.

I realize, too late to take it back, what it means. Most people are worthless to them, unless they have something to offer in the long term. Edward has been unnaturally quiet since Aro said he'd think about his refusal, and he looks preoccupied, as though listening to multiple trains of thought at once. I'm on my own, it seems.

"I think it means that I'd better be a good artist," I say nervously.

Aro smiles broadly, his sharp white teeth shining like brand new gravestones.

"Quite so," he says finally. "You have something prepared? We're all ready to hear you sing. Are we all here? Where is Chelsea? I need you here, _cara mia_."

"I am here, Aro," I hear her silky voice before I see her, but my stomach does a back-flip as she moves gracefully to Aro's side and clasps his hand.

A male vampire follows close behind her, and his reminds me slightly of a fox, his cheekbones high enough to make his eyes tilt, his expression more of cunning than thoughtfulness. He seems to be attached to her, but from a distance, as if by some invisible string. I notice him flinch slightly as Aro touches her, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. She looks back at him and winks, his answering smile full of lies.

She's quite easily the most beautiful vampire in the room, besides Edward. She's as lovely as Rosalie, but with darker hair and somehow, an even meaner expression on her flawless features. Where Rosalie looks kind of bitchy, Chelsea's features display an innate cruelty. Her eyes go to Edward first, then me, and I don't have to be a mind-reader to know what she's thinking. I'd be thinking the same thing, too. _What's he doing with _her_?_, her expression seems to say, and then she gets a speculative look on her face that makes me want to vomit.

If she wants Edward, I don't know what I can do to stop her. She's breathtakingly beautiful. This is worse than finding out that your husband is doing a movie with Angelina Jolie. Might as well just give up now, and wish them all the happiness in the world, etc.

Even as the feeling of dejection settles in, a different sensation wells up to replace it. It's an odd feeling, one that makes no sense in this context. I feel calm, and eager to please. I feel like I last felt sitting at Keys with Angela, Ben, Alice, and Jasper back before the vampires hit town. _I feel like I belong?_ I shake my head slightly at the thought, but the feelings stay with me. It's an odd cognitive dissonance, me feeling happy to be here, but not understanding why. Feeling as though I'm home, and knowing I'm very much _not_. At any rate, it doesn't seem to depress me so much that I'm easily the ugliest individual in the room. It should, and it did, but it doesn't anymore. It doesn't even bother me that Edward is staring at Chelsea. He doesn't look at her like he looks at me, and that's enough for the moment.

He's looking at her like she's a problem to be solved. The way Aro looks at me.

Aro smiles at me encouragingly, fascinated by something, apparently.

"You may begin whenever you like, Bella," he says warmly, putting a protective arm around the beautiful woman at his side, careful to maintain contact with her skin. "Are you ready to sing?"

Oddly enough, I am. I feel like I want to.

I look around the room, recognizing only a few faces from the disastrous meeting before Spring Break. Edward looks at me questioningly, and I nod. I welcome the pre-performance butterflies now. This is a good sort of nervous, the kind I can handle. I welcome these butterflies, and hope they distract me from the fact that only my ability to make music makes me anything more than a tasty beverage to this room full of fearsome, gorgeous creatures. Alice's words come to mind again, and I take courage in knowing that the song choice is the best possible for all possible outcomes.

Edward settles himself at the piano, and I face the dais, summoning the walls of my column, well within reach at all times after months of practice following Dr. George's advice. As I lift my head, I am already inside, and I feel the force of it flow through me like water gushing through a faucet. I am no longer shy, silent Bella Swan, but instead the vivacious Juliet, ebullient with life, sparkling like a flute full of champagne. All of my nervous energy flows into singing the fast, cheerful runs, and I even hit the high notes with far more confidence than I feel.

_Alice is a genius, _I think, as I sing the French aria better than I've ever sung it before. Had I sung in Italian, I would have felt the weight of every person who corrected my Italian today, and there were many of them. Here in this room full of perfect vampires, some of whom have lived among the locals since the local language was Latin, singing anything less than perfectly accented Italian would have been a mistake. I am comfortable in French. I am comfortable in my column.

When I have the column, I don't need to touch or look at Edward to feel our connection. It's there in the way we read each other through the notes, fine and invisible as sonar, automatic as any choreography nature ever inspires. I don't need applause to let me know I've done well, but I feel the attention of all the vampires in the room as though they were beams of light shining right at me. I do reasonably well with the high C at the end. It's not as good as I want it to be, but better than it was in the opera. When it's over, the column feels like it stays up until the last faint echo fades from the marble walls. Aro's gaze holds subtle compliments, and I feel flushed with pleasure at having done my part well in spite of my fears.

A faint, excited murmur fills the void of the notes — it sounds like wind chimes in the distance. Edward moves to stand beside me once again, his face wary. Aro motions us forward, and as he stands, the rest of the vampires fall silent. I notice Renata and Demetri for the first time since entering the room. I feel their eyes on me with far more intensity than the rest, and it makes me tremble, but I don't look directly at them. Edward's hands wrap around my waist in a protective embrace, and I wonder if he's glaring at Demetri. Renata turns her head to Aro, but even without looking I can still feel Demetri's burning gaze. I feel, rather than hear the growl coming from deep in Edward's chest, and my stomach drops once again.

Aro whispers something to Chelsea, and she nods slightly. After a moment, she shakes her head apologetically, and Edward's arms tighten around me again. Aro sighs in disappointment, and stands, giving the appearance of having made a decision.

"You've all heard me speak of my newest musical project," Aro announces. It feels strangely like the introduction I half expected to hear before we started. "I am pleased to introduce you all to Edward, and his human mate, Isabella. As most of you already know, they are here as Volterra scholars."

Some of the vampires murmur in response to the phrase _human mate, _and I blush in response, even though it's no longer unexpected.

"Yes, the situation is odd, but I urge you not to judge them for her status. They have very generously agreed to wait for her transformation, as a special favor to me. Isabella is still rather young, and her voice, though obviously quite agreeable, shows promise, in my opinion, and I've asked to see it developed further before her change. Even in this short interlude, her voice has grown in maturity and skill, and I have high hopes for her artistry, both in her human and eventual vampire forms.

"Of course, it is at great risk that she stays in this fragile condition. Since it is at my request they are willing to put her life in danger, I feel that it is my responsibility to protect her. Therefore," he says, bringing from his pocket a heavy gold chain with a large V-shaped pendant, rubies flashing as he places it ceremoniously around my neck. "Let none harm her. And let me be clear: not one bruise, nor one drop of blood shed, or the penalty will be your existence. You must keep her safe from all harm, from nature, beast, and humans, should they be foreign, for the citizens of Volterra respect and fear _this_ symbol above all others. Indeed, it is your duty, as members of this coven, to protect Isabella from all harm, more carefully than you would protect your own spouse, or your own existence, for your existence indeed depends on her safety. This is more than a token of my faith in our agreement, Edward, though it is that, also. This is my protection."

**~oЖo~**

"This is a lot of bling for me," I say later, staring at the detail on the big V as we finally make it into bed. "Do I really have to wear it all the time?"

"It would make me feel better if you do," Edward says, taking it from my hands and placing it on the bedside table beside us. "Though you can take it off to shower and when we're alone, like this."

"This thing really does make you feel better," I observe, thinking of the growl vibrating in his chest, and of Demetri's look of frustration when Aro made his declaration. "It doesn't make you feel weird, Aro putting his big crest on me like this?"

"Of course it does. It sickens me to see the mark of the Volturi on you," He says, scowling as he traces the double eagle and the barren trees that make up the design in the middle of the pendant. "But they do respect it, I heard it in their minds. Every one of those vampires will protect you as fiercely as any Cullen now, and human men will surely leave you alone once they see it. It's a small price to pay for your safety, considering the alternative."

"It feels weird, wearing two crests like that," I say, nestling into the curve of his arm. His cool body feels like heaven in the warm night air. "Do you really think they'll let you be a Cullen here? I'm surprised Aro didn't give you one of these, too. All the other vampires were wearing them."

"It was in his mind," he says softly. "As are many things. But he is saving it, to mean something more if I should wear it. As to the diet, he means it about the game preserve. But I see why Carlisle left. We may not see the feedings, but the brutality hangs in the air and in their minds. They are not like us. They are murderers, for all their civility."

"I feel like so much happened that I don't understand," I say, feeling exhausted, and letting curiosity open the floodgates of my mind. "I felt such odd things, and you were so quiet. What did you hear? Why were you looking at Chelsea like that? I mean, I can imagine why, she's gorgeous, but you were trying to figure her out, right? Does she have some kind of talent, like yours?"

"Nobody would ever believe me if I told them what a chatterbox you are right before bed," Edward observes with a small smile as he pulls out his laptop and plugs it in to the funky-looking outlet on the wall with an adaptor. "And she's only pretty on the outside. Her mind is not so attractive, and it makes her face ugly by association. She's nowhere near as beautiful as you."

"Liar," I say, but I can't help but smile happily anyway. Edward looks at me in surprise.

"You don't believe me?" he asks, and I shake my head at him, smiling as he pulls me into his arms, putting aside the computer while it boots up. "Haven't you ever met someone who seemed attractive at first, then they open their mouth and say something incredibly stupid, or mean, and suddenly they don't look all that great anymore?"

"Now that you mention it, yes," I admit, grudgingly. "I once thought I had a crush on a boy in high school until he said something really racist, then he just seemed kind of gross, and I never understood what I saw in him to start with. Grandma Swan used to call that 'acting ugly'."

"Yeah, well, if you could read the minds of these vampires, you'd see a whole lot of ugly in that room," he sighs, shaking his head. "I'm actually a bit disappointed. Most of them are no better than the average human high school student. Always the same thing. Sizing up the new kids, making unflattering comparisons, wondering what it will take to get them to sleep with you, plotting, jealousy — the same predictable, shallow bullshit. I had higher hopes for the famous Volturi."

I _knew_ she wanted to sleep with him. Jealousy and insecurity twist inside me, and the words tumble out of me before I can stop them.

"Have you ever thought that if you could read my mind, you'd find that I'm just like them?" I ask morosely, picking at his shirt collar, unable to look him in the eyes. "I mean, I get jealous,too, you know. And I probably thought the same thing everyone else thinks the first time I saw you. I thought you were so beautiful. You'd probably never want me if you knew what I was thinking."

"Oh, I doubt that, Bella. Jealous, maybe, but shallow? Never," he says, taking my chin and tilting my face up, so that I'm forced to look at him. He kisses a hot tear away as it streaks down my face. "If you were like them I could predict what you'd say, but I never can. Although, I think your mind is probably a lot like Renee's, but more reserved, like Charlie's. You're such a blend of them, in all ways. His coloring and her bone structure. His quiet logic and her creativity. As for the jealousy, I really can't throw stones at you. My house is made of glass when it comes to that."

"Maybe," I smile, "but I really am always plotting to get you into bed."

"I think that's my favorite thing about you," he says, his hand sliding down my side as he nuzzles my neck in a slow, sexy caress. "And I'm plotting to continue this just as soon as we get this conversation with Alice out of the way. She wants to speak with you too, and I plan to _wear…you…out_."

I shake my head to clear it, thrilling as his words are. I still need to know what happened in that room.

"You're not going to distract me that easily, Edward," I warn, and then soften as he smiles at the challenge. "Okay, you probably could, but please don't. I'm still confused about that what happened. Did she do something? I felt weird, like I was on antidepressants or something. Not that I've ever taken them — Renee has, and she told me all about it. It was like I was feeling good, but my thoughts didn't match."

"Yes, that was Chelsea," his expression gets serious now. "It's her talent, and it only worked on you halfway. Very weakly in fact, I saw it in her mind."

"What can she do?" I ask, nervous to discover a vampire whose talent works on me.

"Like Marcus, she can sense ties between people, though she doesn't see them as clearly. She can, however, manipulate those ties, especially weak ones. She can make them stronger, make you feel comfortable and even loyal to someone, or reverse that process as well. The Volturi use her to separate vampires from their covens once they've been found guilty of breaking the law. It makes execution easier, politically. Aro also uses her gift to keep the Volturi together."

"She can tear us apart," I say, sitting bolt upright, my chest feeling tight once the implication sets in. "She wants you; I saw it in her eyes. She can make you want her, too."

"_Shh_, no, she can't do that," he says, gently rubbing my back. "Her influence is too weak to work on the ties between mates, or even ties with the rest of the family. Most covens aren't as close as the Cullens. They don't think of themselves as family. Most vampires aren't that loyal."

"But she can make us feel a false sense of security with the Volturi," I say, calming down only by a fraction. "She made me want to please Aro."

"You already wanted to please Aro," he reminds me. "She just made you feel more comfortable around him. Around them all. In a way, it was perversely helpful. And for the record, there's no way she can make me want her. She's cold-hearted, more evil that most of them. She's a monster among monsters, like Aro."

"I still don't like feeling manipulated," I say, mollified for now, as he connects to the Internet. "It's fucking creepy."

"I know. We're just lucky that we're at least partially immune. I can read her mind. She has no control over her thoughts whatsoever. It's not easy to manipulate someone when you're telling them exactly what you're doing every step of the way. And you, her influence over you is laughably weak compared to the way it usually works. Oh, here she is."

A window pops up and Alice sits there, looking almost exactly like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's, with giant sunglasses and the pearls, the black sleeveless dress and the tiara, too. She's even posed like Holly Golightly, with her arms crossed, holding an unlit cigarette in a long black lacquer holder.

"Nice work kids," she says with a totally serious face. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

I start giggling, and she smiles broadly. Alice always knows how to cheer me up.

"You look amazing," I say, meaning it. "Can you take your sunglasses off?"

"Not yet," she sighs. "They're the only thing about me that isn't gorgeous at the moment. I'll explain later, but you're too emo for me to give you the whole disturbing show-and-tell right now. So, Edward, you trust me now or what?"

"I trust you," he says reluctantly. "In spite of the slight variations."

"Well, we're in luck, because Aro doesn't seem to like improvisation. He may mask his thoughts well, but he's methodical in action. I've been testing it out here, and my visions change when someone changes their mind. And you," she points accusingly at Edward. "Scared the crap out of me. You almost messed everything up tonight, you know that?"

"You did?" I ask, surprised. "Oh! When Aro offered to keep me safe in return for a bad touch?"

"I would have done it, too," Edward looks embarrassed. "If you hadn't told me that he was going to be willing to make a better deal."

"Well, that's why I told you, fool," she says. "I can't tell you everything. Aro needs to feel like he has you on your toes. You don't want to know what he's willing to do to keep the upper hand."

"I can feign surprise," Edward protests. I look at him incredulously, and Alice cracks up. "Okay, she doesn't count. I can't read her mind."

"That's my point exactly, Edward. Aro's mind may not be silent to you, but it isn't clear to you either. You saw the difference when he touched _her_, didn't you?"

"Every thought she ever had," he shudders. "With crystal clarity, even through her human life. It was horrible. She's fucking vile."

"Who, Chelsea?" I ask, surprised.

Alice nods at me. "And I'm not going to say this again, guys. You can't constantly reassure each other anymore. Not unless you want to wait decades for your change, Bella. I know Edward wouldn't mind so long as you're safe, but you wouldn't like it."

"You really wouldn't mind?" I ask him, accusingly. "I thought you were over that. I thought you wanted me to be like you."

"You'll always be my Bella," he says, touching my face. "If you're safe I'd rather not put you through the change."

"I hear that," Alice agrees. "That shit is _painful_. But it's better this way, Edward. Chelsea's influence may be weak, but the longer you're there, the stronger it gets. Just ask Marcus. He knows how manipulative she is, and it doesn't even bother him any more."

"Unless she's not there," Edward says with steel in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, confused.

"You shut your pie-hole, Edward Cullen," Alice orders abruptly, making us both start a little. "Bella, you are on a need-to-know basis, and that is something you don't need to know."

"Yes, ma'am," we reply in unison. She likes it when you call her that.

"Say, where is Jasper anyway?" I ask.

"Oh, he's in time-out," she sighs.

"How do you put a newborn vampire in time-out?" I ask.

She then turns her face slightly to Edward. "Don't you dare say what you were just about to. That's disgusting. I can assure you all his man-bits are still firmly attached to his body and out of my possession."

He shakes his head at her, looking a little annoyed.

"You're kind of scary, Alice, but I still love you," I say, trying to patch things over, and she grins sheepishly.

"I love you too, honey," she says, a little drawl creeping into her voice as her smile fades. "Both of you. I know you hate being told what to do, Edward, and I know this is going to be hard, but try to remember that we're all in this together. I'm not trying to torture you guys for my own pleasure, I just want us all to be together again, and out of Aro's clutches as soon as possible. The longer the wait, the more can go wrong, you know? I don't mean to be a huge bitch about everything, it's just that everything hangs on these _tiny _details."

"I know, Alice. And I appreciate your diligence. I don't mean to seem ungrateful."

"Don't worry about it," she says lightly. "I know I can be a pain. Oh, Bella, Aro's going to change your class schedule tomorrow, just to fuck with your mind. Don't worry; just go with it, okay? He does _not_ need to know how stubborn you can be. Edward? I'll talk to you later. You two can resume your regularly scheduled nookie time."

"Hey! We don't regularly schedule—" I start to protest, loudly.

"Or not," she says, tilting her head. "Boy Edward, you really _don't_ like being told what to do, do you? Sorry Bella. My bad."

At that the screen goes blank, and I turn to Edward, who is most definitely _not_ in the mood for nookie, regularly scheduled or otherwise. "You really created a monster there, Edward."

"Yes, but she's our monster, and she's on our side," he says, with an exasperated sigh. "We did well tonight, thanks to Alice. School starts tomorrow, and you need sleep. Don't think about monsters right before bed."

"What are you going to do about Chelsea?" I ask softly, even though I know I'm not supposed to. "Are you going to try to make her leave?"

He doesn't say anything to me, but holds me tight instead. I recall our promise never to lie to one another. We've also promised Alice that we would keep quiet when she asks us to, not even an "I can't tell you." No more easy reassurances. Still, I need something.

"Do you still love me?" I ask, softer still. I know it's too early for me to have any real doubts, but I just need to hear him say it, if he can't promise anything else.

"Always," he says, kissing me with such complete and utter devotion that I feel warm in spite of his temperature. "Never doubt it."

I twist in his arms, so he spoons me, and try to fall asleep, trying to ignore the sharp gleam of the golden V on the nightstand, echoing distant moonlight in this foreign place.

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: The Roman theater ruins in Volterra do exist, and it's a spooky and beautiful setting, very inspiring for this chapter. I've got pictures on the Twilighted thread, or Google works too.**

**Almost all of my vamp backstory comes from SMeyer's canon backstory, which can be found on the twilight saga wiki. She left some juicy little fragments of history for us that didn't make it directly into canon, and I intend to build on them.**

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**Italian translations: **

_**Signorina, Signorina, voi un aiuto? Tu non sei di qui, vero?,**_** – Miss? Miss, would you like some help? You're not from around here, are you?**

_**Grazie, ma no, Non è necessario. Sono qui con il mio**_** – Thank you, but no, it's not necessary. I'm here with my—**

_**Forse hai bisogno di una guida turistica? Vieni, lascia che ti aiuti. Conosco un posto dove si può dormire la notte. **_**– Maybe you need a tour guide? Come, let me help. I know a place where you can sleep for the night.**

_**La mia fidanzata non ha bisogno del tuo aiuto, Va a molestare qualcun altro.**_** – My fiancée doesn't need your help. Go bother someone else.**

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* * *

Finally, if you value your sanity, don't read the crackfic that Feisty, NelsonSmandela and I wrote for the Worst Story Ever contest: **

_**I Wanna Eff You Like A Masochistic Lion: **_ **http://www dot fanfiction dot net/s/5623917/1/ **

**NelsonSmandela more than debeta'd it, she made me think of that old saying, "you can't polish a turd, but you can shellac it 'till it's shiny." And that she did. **

**For those of you expecting our usual gauzy artsy fartsy stuff, let me quote Movieward and say "I hope you enjoy disappointment" or whatever it was he said in the hallway of the hospital. Fartsy, maybe, but artsy? Uh, no. If you've ever wondered what kind of banter goes on during the search for gorgeous music, you can find some of our weirdest ramblings embedded within this…cold…wet…thing.**

**Voting ends soonish? Today maybe (today being the 10th, if I recall correctly, which almost never happens)**


	26. Persephone in the Underworld

**Chapter 26: Persephone in the Underworld **

**Thanks to NelsonSmandela, Feisty, Algie, Scarlett and everyone from Twitter who gave me some fantastic music suggestions for Edward. You all gave me enough suggestions to last the rest of the story, thank you! **

**I'd like to apologize in advance to anyone who really loves this German aria from the chapter music. While most of Aro's opinions are hilarious but totally not mine, in this particular case, I was forced to sing this aria for three years, and reserve the right to blow off some steam about it. Beethoven was notorious for writing music in such a way that made it incredibly difficult to play or sing. When confronted about this, his general response could roughly be translated as "Life is hard, go boo-hoo to someone who cares." So, I don't feel guilty. I love Ludwig van, very much, in spite of the pain he caused me.**

**Also, I have lots of announcements after the chapter.**

**Disclaimer: These toys belong to SM. It's kind of like playing with my cousin's Barbies when we were little. She never told me to stop, so I kept making her dolls hump each other. In my defense, the dolls seemed happy enough. **

**Chapter Music**

**Duruflé: **_**Ubi Caritas**_** performed by the ****Cambridge Singers**

**http://www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=457nVpxJDkA**

**Beethoven: "O wär' ich schon," from **_**Fidelio**_**, sung by Elizabeth Gale**

**http://www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=qsrJ0xnXh0c**

**Brahms: **_**Intermezzo, E minor, Op.119 No. 2**_** interpreted by Heinrich Neuhaus**

**http://www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=2DdLzGcYIGQ**

**and semi-official soundtrack:**

**(Algie and all Glass-haters look away, just ignore this, and pretend it never happened for both of our sakes. Or listen and tell me why you hate it, especially when the violin kicks in after the 3 minute mark, because I just … love this music, and it fits Marcus here. )**

**Philip Glass' **_**Violin Concerto, 2nd movement**_** by Adele Anthony and the Ulster Orchestra**

**http://www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=CsioM3GaAAY**

**~oЖo~**

This isn't something that an opera singer is supposed to admit, but I used to be painfully shy.

I used to be so shy that when I was a kid, if anyone had ever asked me what superpower I would choose, I'd probably … well, I'd probably try to avoid the question, but I'd be thinking _invisibility_. I used to dream of having an invisibility cloak, or just a way to disappear at will, to hide when I didn't want to deal with people who had nothing to do with the tiny circle of family members and friends I truly trusted. Little did I know that someday the scariest vampire ever would give me my childhood dream, or at least something very similar.

When I was a teenager, I generally tried to hide behind a book and some headphones. I didn't say much unless it was to someone like Jake, who could draw me out and make me feel comfortable in spite of myself. I joined choir because I can't draw and I had to take an arts elective. I liked to sing with Renee, usually in the car with the radio turned way up, and standing with several other people, singing twice a year for concerts that few people ever attended sounded like a good compromise.

Things changed after that. Music brought me out of my shell, to a point. It's like I went from being reclusive to merely reserved, but to me that's a huge difference. I'm still not that comfortable with getting jostled by crowds in general, or meeting new people. Living in France was a challenge with all the face-kissing and people requiring less personal space than most Americans. Everything I've ever been told about Italy has had me convinced that I'll have to deal with a society filled with people who are not shy at all. I've accepted it as the price you pay for sunshine, stunning scenery, and this spectacular chance to study voice in the birthplace of opera.

Now when I wear this thing around my neck—the gold V, the sign of the Volturi—everyone acts like I don't exist, unless I speak to them directly. Then they reply very quietly and politely, and don't look me in the eye. They certainly don't bombard me with awkward questions. They don't invade my space.

I'd be lying if I said it isn't everything I ever dreamed it would be.

**~oЖo~**

As Alice promised, my schedule had completely changed from the courses I had originally chosen for the semester. Instead of the opera workshop that was supposed to be the main focus of the scholarship, I get placed in a chamber choir. In addition to the required intensive Italian For Foreigners class, there's an extra diction class instead of Italian literature, and a repertoire class instead of music history.

"You don't mind, do you Isabella?" Aro asks during our first Friday evening appointment.

We are in Aro's personal _salon_, as he calls it, a luxurious room filled with some of the most beautiful musical instruments I've ever seen. Edward sits at the piano, and if it were a woman I'd be jealous of the way he touches it.

"Not really," I shrug, and it's technically not a lie. It's a little annoying, but not worth any kind of struggle with Aro. "Edward and I have been reading Italian literature together anyway, and I actually really enjoy the chamber choir. I love the music we're working on."

"Tell me—what do you like best?" he asks attentively.

"It's all exquisite, but I definitely have a thing for the Duruflé."

"_Ubi Caritas_?" he asks, looking amused. "You see, that's my little joke. I think of it as Heidi's song."

I know who she is. She's the other female vampire who makes other vampires look plain by comparison—as lovely as Chelsea or Rosalie, but she seems rather friendly. She's probably the only vampire who really smiles at me. I definitely don't count Demetri's knowing smirk as a smile, and Aro, well. He seems to be baring his teeth most of the time, although I can't say he doesn't look amused. Heidi has a warm smile for a vampire.

"Joke?" I ask, confused. "I don't understand. Because Heidi's nicer than the others?"

"Of course, well, I should tell you," he laughs, clearly enjoying himself at my expense. "I personally approve the repertoire for that particular group. The Duruflé is one of my own selections."

"But it's so beautiful, so moving," I frown, glancing over at Edward, who is doing the bridge of the nose pinch again. "I'm sorry, I just don't understand the why it's supposed to be funny."

"Come on, Aro," Edward says with quiet disapproval. "You can't possibly expect Bella to find that amusing."

"Gianna used to laugh at this sort of thing," Aro protests, looking like Charlie whenever Billy doesn't laugh at one of his casino jokes. "This bit reminds me very much of Heidi: _The love of Christ has gathered us into one flock. _We often refer to Heidi as a shepherdess."

"Aro, please." Edward's voice is quiet, but not calm. "Bella is nothing like Gianna. Surely you can see that."

Aro looks at me speculatively, with a slight gleam in his eye that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Something tells me to start talking, just to say anything, so I jump on the pause as if it were a life preserver.

"Yeah, but the words on the whole, and the music, it all reminds me of Carlisle," I say, thinking of the way the song's structure feels almost tangible. "And cathedrals, maybe. There's something about the harmonic structure that's so inviting, like if you're inside of it you can never be harmed, and you'll always be loved. It's so overwhelmingly peaceful, but so solid, like him."

Aro looks for one instant as though I've slapped him. I feel a cold prickle at the base of my spine, and wonder if I should have just let him keep talking about his joke, whatever it is. He narrows his eyes at Edward, who studiously ignores him in favor of the sheet music we've brought along from my new voice instructor.

"Perhaps we should hear something you've prepared?" Aro says, all humor gone now. "A new assignment?"

"She's only given me one piece so far," I warn. "I'm not sure you'll like it. It's German, and**—"**

"German arias exist," he acknowledges with a resigned sigh. "Some are even worth translating into Italian. We may as well get it over with."

He leans his head back to gaze impassively at the ceiling as Edward and I launch into Marzelline's aria from _Fidelio_. I try to make it interesting, but there just isn't much room for emotional range. It's just about a young girl fantasizing about being with her crush, and she doesn't even get angsty about it. That I can handle. She's just happy. Very, very happy. It doesn't make much sense, but I try, because it's Beethoven. So the problem must be mine. I mean, Beethoven.

Clearly, I'm fucking it up, but in my defense, I don't know how to get into the column with this one. It's like the column is almost rejecting the aria. Aro seems to agree with the column, unfortunately, and reminds me of the judges on American Idol during those really bad auditions. After I finish singing, he just looks at me for a while.

"Well, that aria hasn't changed in two centuries," he finally says, looking sour. "It's still a steaming pile of shit."

"I—I'm sorry," I stammer, and the fear tastes like coins in my mouth. If Aro doesn't like my singing, then what happens? "I can try again? I just don't know how to make it—maybe there's something missing that I am not understanding?"

"What's to understand? There's nothing you can do but suffer through it, or change voice teachers," he shrugs, and my anxiety lessens as he continues. "You simply can't do anything with that. They should take it out of the opera, plain and simple. I happen to know that he wrote that aria just to spite me."

"To spite you?" I ask, bewildered, and look over at Edward, who crosses his arms in front of his chest, as if to indicate that we'll be listening for a while.

"Yes, to spite me!" he says, pointing at his own chest with annoyance. "Me! Without me he wouldn't have had a career at all. So he thought he had a raw deal. Well, you try to get your pound of flesh from someone who tortures himself so thoroughly—it can't be done! I wasn't even the one who made him deaf, but he was so sure it was me that he wrote this aria just to make me wish I were deaf,too."

I look over at Edward, and he shakes his head subtly, as if to say, _just let him rant. _

"I mean, really, just listen to it: the tessitura rests in this awkward place, and it's only suitable for young girls who surely won't know how to handle it. And for what? Some lofty idea of love, honor, and heroism, as Leonora gets to sing? No, it's just some vapid twit, ironing shirts and pining after a handsome boy who isn't even a boy at all, but a grown woman in drag? What is that?"

Aro is pacing now, his eyes fixed on some vivid memory, his face twisted with disgust.

"And how many minutes of singing happy, happy, happy, happy like a deranged parakeet, over and over again? Anyone who's ever read anything about Beethoven's personality knows this aria is completely sarcastic! It's four minutes of nothing but the German word for 'happy' from a man who wouldn't know what happiness was if it were lying naked for him in his bed at night. He never made one woman happy in his whole miserable life. And four different overtures. Four. Why?"

"I have no idea," I confess.

"Ridiculous. We're changing your voice teacher."

Well. I guess that's that, then.

**~oЖo~**

Every day after classes I walk around Volterra on my way home, mostly looking in the shops and memorizing the streets. It's an excuse for sunshine, and I soak it in thirstily. Since hardly anyone at school or anywhere else will speak to me because of my intimidating gangsta bling, I'm not exactly getting a lot of practice speaking Italian. As much as I dislike shopping in general, stopping by multiple shops for bread, produce, and everything else I need seems to be the best way to get in little ordinary exchanges. I feel guilty about their wary expressions, so I tend to be extra nice in hopes they'll eventually relax. It's not like I'm going to hurt anyone.

Volterra's narrow streets—if they truly can be called streets—have become easier to handle, so I'm wearing real shoes again. Not four-inch heels like most of the Italian women my age, but I'm working my way up to that. I stop into one of Volterra's more unique artisan shops when I see this little statuette of an alabaster cactus in the window. It reminds me of this spiky cactus that Renee and I kept for years in Phoenix. She said she loved it most because it refused to die, and I know she misses it because she still brings it up. I can imagine her face when she opens up the package, so I buy it, with the intention of sending some of Phil's favorite cookies along at the same time—if I can find peanut butter chips, of course. I'm walking toward home and wondering where I can find some when my heel catches on something and I very nearly fall right on top of Renee's present.

Of course, a vampire catches me. Just not the vampire who usually does.

My stomach flips when I realize it's quite possibly the very last creature I want touching me.

"Thank you, Demetri," I say stiffly, trying to ignore the nausea as I extricate myself from his all-too-familiar embrace. "Not that I'm complaining about you helping me, but, uh, were you following me?"

He cocks his head and stares intensely into my eyes, like he's trying to hypnotize me. I don't know what effect he's going for, but I'm not buying, so I adjust my bags and keep walking. He falls into step beside me, speaking as though we're just friends out on a walk.

"I happened to be walking down Via Gramsci," he says in a voice that totally flunks the Charlie Swan verbal lie-detector test, "and saw you buying that, ah, accident waiting to happen? I thought it would be in both our best interests," he flicks my V pendant before I can jerk away from him, "to catch you when the inevitable happened. And so it did."

"Well, I'm fine now, so you can move along."

"You've got a way to go before you get home, Bella."

_Only Edward is allowed to call me that_,I think, but I don't want him to know it riles me when he says it. Maybe I can pretend like he's not here.

"Someone with your skin, shopping for alabaster?" he asks, as if I'm willing to have a conversation with him. "Isn't that a bit redundant?"

"Great, a vampire's making fun of me for being too pale," I mutter, making sure no humans are close enough to hear me use the forbidden word.

"It's no criticism, _Bella_," he says silkily, putting emphasis on the familiar form of my name, like he knows me better than everyone else. "I find your skin quite lovely, in fact. The way you blush, it's exquisite."

"You tried to kill me, Demetri. I may have a fuzzy human memory, but I haven't forgotten that." I don't bother to hide my revulsion, which seems to surprise him.

_Really, Demetri?_ He must be used to hanging around suicidal women. Or maybe he just makes them that way after a while.

"I wasn't really going to kill you," he protests, brimming with the false indignation of a true cad. "I just wanted a kiss. I've always liked you, Bella."

I don't even dignify this with a response, but quicken my pace slightly. I want to show annoyance, not fear. I hope it's not coming across as fear.

At this late time of day most of the narrow streets are completely in the shadows of buildings, so it's not uncommon to see vampires walking freely among humans here. Most people seem to look at them through covert glances, once they've noticed the golden Vs glinting against their chests, their elegant faces, and their catlike grace.

I see Heidi lounging prettily in the door to some bar, speaking to a couple of tattooed male tourists in what sounds like a Slavic dialect. She looks like a Victoria's Secret model, with her thigh-high boots and her micro skirt, twirling her hair on a cold finger and flirting. She smiles at me brightly, and I smile back, but it's more of a reflex this time. She and Demetri exchange smug nods, and I wonder why seeing her talking to those guys bothers me.

She seems too friendly to be— No. She wouldn't be doing _that _out in the open, would she?

"Oh yes, I like everything about you, _Bella,_" he says, before I can dwell on it too long, reaching to brush a bit of dust or something off my shoulder.

I flinch away from him, but he just smiles like I'm playing coy, matching my footsteps so that we're in lock-step. Is he kidding? I catch him staring at my chest, so I move my packages to obstruct his view.

"Oh God, are you trying to _flirt_ with me?" I ask, horrified.

Again, he looks confused. Fortunately, we're nearing an intersection with the street is in full sunlight, so he stops before the light hits him.

I'm so glad he didn't wear a hooded cape today_._ They're probably not in fashion right now, and Demetri is the essence of style. As if illustrating my thought, he gives me a look I can immediately identify as _Blue Steel._

"Why isn't it working?" he calls plaintively as I walk quickly in the sun, leaving him behind.

I think I'm going to throw up.

**~oЖo~**

By the time I climb the stairs to our apartment, I've calmed down considerably, having worn myself out a bit. Hearing the somber-sweet longing of Edward playing Brahms through the door makes me forget everything but getting that key in the lock and getting through to the other side.

The gentle notes flutter over to me like as many sweet kisses and touches. I put my packages on the kitchen counter and go to him, rubbing my hands along his solid shoulders.

"Are you trying to give a vampire a massage?" he asks, laughing.

"Is it that pathetic?" I ask, to his great amusement. "It might feel better if you weren't wearing clothes. What about this?"

I run my hands up to the exposed skin of his neck, let my fingers weave through his hair, drag my fingernails along his scalp. He starts either purring or humming or some combination of the two, and so I lean over to kiss his neck and listen closer. I'm pretty sure he misses a few notes.

"Nice to know I can still distract you," I laugh, but he stops playing altogether and stiffens. "Edward, what is it? What's wrong?"

He turns to stare at me, his face tense with anger. He takes my hands and smells them, relaxing fractionally.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Bella?" he asks, dangerously calm. "Someone you ran into today?"

"What do you mean?" I have no idea how his mood has changed so suddenly. "Ran into?"

Then it hits me. _Vampires and their stupid noses._ I close my eyes and shudder, shaking my head as if trying to shake the images out of my mind.

"Oh, you probably smell vampire on me," I say with great annoyance. "I'd really rather not even think about that, if you don't mind. I had almost completely forgotten about it. I want to."

I try to get up, reaching for my packages, but he turns on the piano bench and pulls me onto his lap with an uncompromising hold.

"I most definitely do mind," he whispers in my ear, and if we weren't talking about Demetri, I'd find it sexy. "Given the origin of the scent. Why was he touching you?"

"I didn't want him to," I whisper, almost inaudibly. I know he can hear me.

"What? Bella, what did he do?" he prods, his voice thick with anger. "Tell me. I'll take care of it if he's intimidating you. I knew you shouldn't be out there without me."

"Stop, Edward. It wasn't like that," I say, turning my face towards his. He looks deeply into my eyes, searching. "Okay, I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to let it ruin our night."

"Tell me, Bella, please," he insists. "You're driving me crazy."

When it comes to Demetri, the drive to crazy is so short for Edward it's practically walking distance.

"Okay, but it would help if I show you something." I point to the bags, and he lets me go.

"Well, I was walking with this alabaster sculpture of a cactus," I start, taking said object out of the shopping bag they packed it in with some flimsy tissue. His eyes widen as he sees all the long, narrow spines protruding in all directions. "And I'm wearing heels today, so—"

"Jesus," he mutters. "What on earth made you think that was a good idea?"

"Hey!" I protest, though, in hindsight, it was a spectacularly stupid idea. "Yes, maybe given my history, I should have had them ship it to Renee directly from the store, but I wanted to send Phil some cookies, too. Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"I think I can guess part of it from here," he says, staring at the ceiling. "Let's see, you bought this knife sculpture and decided to go toddling around in heels on unevenly paved streets, and you nearly fell on it until _he_ saved you at the last moment. Does that about cover it?"

"Okay, okay, so it wasn't a brilliant move," I say, feeling a bit hurt and defensive. "You don't have to make it sound like I asked for his attention. You know how I feel about him."

Something in my tone reaches him through his anger, and his face softens in regret. He puts his arms around me and I lean into him, pouting my best pout.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing my cheek. "I know he scares you. That's partly why he makes me so angry. So, he flirted with you?"

"Why do you think that?" I ask.

"It's the only way he communicates with women," he states flatly, anger seeping into his tone. "They usually love it."

Only Edward could get jealous of a man who makes me want to hurl. Still, a jealous Edward can sometimes be a passionate Edward. I go back to his lap and let him gather me to him until I feel safe and ready to continue.

"More like he flirted _at_ me," I mutter, resting my head on his shoulder so I can still see his face. "It was creepy and weird."

"What happened next?" His nostrils flare, either out of anger or he's still sniffing me surreptitiously.

Very jealous.

"Oh god, hardly anything," I say with a grimace. "Except he tried to talk to me as if he hadn't tried to kill me, making small talk and walking along side me. Then I saw Heidi talking to some tourists **…** she **…** I didn't think about it, Edward. I don't want to think about that."

I shake my head again, and remember Eleazar's advice: _Sometimes you have control over situations. Sometimes you have influence. Sometimes you have neither. Figure out what power you have in the moment, and then try to let it go. If you can't let it go, then leave. If you can't leave, then find a way to cope until you can leave._

It helps, and I take a few deep breaths to calm down.

"I know, Bella, I know," he says, kissing my cheek. "Then what happened? How did you get rid of him?"

"I turned onto a sunny street. He wasn't dressed for it."

"Good girl," he says, hugging me close. He stiffens again, slightly this time, and scrunches his nose. "Still not fond of you smelling like him, though."

"Well, that's easily solved," I say, unbuttoning my blouse. The idea of a shower sounds really good to me. I just want to wash the entire creepy afternoon away. "Wash my hair for me?"

This, of course, is one of our codes.

"Yeah?" he asks, looking a little surprised. He helps slide the shirt down my arms, and kisses my neck sweetly. "After dealing with all that? You sure you want to?"

It's not so much that I want to, but that I need to. I just need _him_. It's like sometimes when it's really dark, you just need to turn on a light. But it's not like Edward is the light, exactly. I'm not using him to deal with my problems. It's us together, our connection. I want to lose myself in it. I want for us to live in a bubble whenever we can, and not let Aro or Demetri or anyone else interfere.

"Please, Edward," I sigh, turning around so I can wind my arms around his neck again and run my fingers through his hair. "I don't want anyone influencing when we make love except you—" I stop to kiss him with a soft, slightly open mouth, licking his lower lip slowly so he can't possibly miss the point. "And me. I mean, Alice didn't say we couldn't do this as much as we want."

"That's true," he says, eyes widening. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to do this _whenever_ we want, though."

Apparently he's fine with right now, however. He kisses my neck, right below the ear and down, walking us backwards towards the bathroom.

"Why not?" I ask, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as my fingers will allow. I'm naked in seconds. "No fair with your vampire speed. Help me, Edward, please?"

I hear the buckle of his belt hit the floor almost in the same instant the shower turns on, and he spins us to pin me up against the wall while we wait for the water to warm up. It's vampire fast, and he looks exactly like what he is for a moment. Not human. Lately he hides it less and less when we're together, alone. Even knowing that he doesn't kill people, the display of power is intense.

"You okay?" he whispers, looking at me once with heavy-lidded eyes, saturated with love and lust.

I blink, and he's Edward again. The thought strikes me: have I been blocking this information from my mind, or has my intuitive definition of _vampire_ been changing since meeting the Volturi? Since meeting Edward, for that matter? He would never hurt me, and I know that with the same conviction I know my own name. I love him even more for not being them. All of that power, used only for good. It's not the same as someone incapable of cruelty refrains from harming others. It's infinitely better, more meaningful.

"I love you," I say fervently, and he smiles before burying his face in my neck, the touch of his lips bringing only pleasure.

I grip his head, panting as he starts kissing down, down, and lower until he reaches a stiff pink peak. One of his hands goes to gently cup the breast not currently getting the attention of his glorious snaking tongue, and the other arm reaches into the shower.

"I think this is your preferred water temperature," he says, lifting me into the bath.

I nod vigorously as he keeps lifting me, and I wrap my legs around his waist to be helpful. I'm pretty sure this wouldn't be possible in a shower unless at least one of us was a vampire, or at least an acrobat, so I try to be as helpful as possible. I angle my torso and he buries his wet head between my breasts, concentrating.

I love it when he concentrates, particularly when naked.

"Oh—" I cry as he enters me with a sexy noise, somewhere in between a growl and a grunt. I feel relief, "Yes, _this_. I need you."

I lean back and ride him by undulating my hips, confident in his grip on my waist, of mine around his neck, his constant attention to my safety. My head lolls back in ecstasy, and I moan loudly, really happy that our downstairs neighbor told me she lost the battery to her hearing aid and won't get a new one till the weekend.

"God, yes … let go, Bella," his voice like rough velvet. Rough, _steamed_ velvet. I open my eyes to find him watching me with a starved expression, clear rivulets making his skin glow unnaturally in the bright overhead light.

I almost come, but the tension just builds, so I thrust against him harder. He cries out, almost like he's in pain, but by the look in his eyes he's just holding back and waiting for me to catch up. Usually it's enough for me just to have him inside me, and I'm throbbing so hard, inside and out, that I don't know why it hasn't happened yet.

The feel of him inside me, meeting my thrusts is almost too much, but not quite enough, and I cry out in frustration. I feel his hands moving as he readjusts us, and his long fingers move between us to stroke me where we're joined, sending me right over the edge.

"Yes, Edward!" I scream over and over as it happens, and his eyes go completely wild as I thrash against him.

It feels like an earthquake with two epicenters, and my hips continue to thrust against him long after I've ceased having control over the matter. As if from a hundred miles away I dimly register his ungodly sexy moans and grunts as he comes. I'm pretty sure he says my name a lot, and I grin as I realize he's telling me he loves me over and over as I shake and tremble in his arms.

"I love you too," I whisper back through the delicious tremors. "Is it wrong for me to want to steal Signora Alberti's hearing aid batteries when they come in?"

He laughs, his beautiful face transformed into pure light as he shakes water from his hair. I love it when he gets playful in the shower after getting playful in the shower.

"I think we can come up with ways to get her out of the house." He takes my shampoo and starts working the lather into my scalp, his smile turning devious as I tilt my face back to look at him questioningly. "Tickets to shows, a trip to her daughter's house in Rome, for example."

"We could give her a loaded iPod and some noise-canceling headphones?" I grin, and he kisses me sweetly, his lips upside-down on mine. "Hey, earlier you said we shouldn't do this as often as we want. Why not?"

He laughs, and abandons my hair to cup my breasts from behind.

"We'd never stop," he says, pressing the evidence of this into my back. "We've got classes and vampire fuckery—you've got to sleep sometimes."

"I suppose," I sigh, reaching my hand behind to stroke him. He starts kissing my neck in the sweet spot. "But I vote for more in general. It's fantastic for blowing off steam, and we're in a pressure cooker every time we step out the front door."

"I see how it is," he says as I turn around and start kissing a trail down the plane of his belly. "Use me to relieve tension, and, uh, oh fuck, why am I arguing again? You are so right about this."

**~oЖo~**

"Edward, she's leaking again," Aro cries exasperatedly one following Friday evening, throwing his hands in the air. "Can't you do something about that? I'll give you a moment."

He wanders off in a floating movement, and I can still hear the echo of the piano's last notes as Edward's arms enfold me.

"Sorry," I sniff, my hot tears finally spilling freely down my face. "I'm not sad, just frustrated. I hate that it makes me cry."

"I know." He kisses them away as he always does when I get emotional. "Just let it go."

"Are my tears tasty like my blood?" I ask with a shaky laugh.

"Don't joke about that," he says, stiffening a bit. "Do I creep you out when I do that?"

"What? No, of course not. I love it. It's like you're trying to take in my sadness so I won't feel it anymore."

"Sometimes I think you're reading my mind," he jokes, lightly tracing the bones of my face with his nose. "Can you sing again?"

"We've been going at it for two hours," I say, feeling conflicted. "I don't know about my new instructor, but Dr. George advised against singing this long without taking a break of some kind. At least at my age."

"That's an excellent point," Aro says in a polite tone from the doorway, and I wonder how far he went, if anywhere at all. "Sometimes I forget about human limitations, and I keep thinking of you as practically being one of us already. I think you both like books, am I right? Come with me, I want to show you something."

Grateful for the chance to rest, we follow Aro through the palace, down an unfamiliar corridor. We stop at a set of highly polished brass doors.

"Ghiberti did this?" Edward asks, looking closer.

Aro inclines his head minutely, though his posture indicates the pleasure of the collector.

"I can't take credit for it, but it is exquisite," Aro confirms. "Caius commissioned it from the artist as a gift for Marcus. He loved Ghiberti so much he gave him artistic techniques and secrets that had died out with Rome itself. These doors were made before the ones in Florence."

There are scenes sculpted into the panels making up the door, just like the _Gates of Paradise_ on the doors of the Duomo in Florence, except here they are not religious scenes. Instead there are scenes from classical mythology: the beautiful Io transforming into a cow, Europa riding on the back of Zeus in the form of a bull, Daphne turning into the Laurel tree as Apollo pursues her, Persephone tricked into eating pomegranate seeds during her abduction in the underworld, a nude and enraged Artemis turning Actaeon into a stag, and so on. I notice the pattern and gasp. It's so perfect for vampires, but anyone looking might only notice the classical theme of change.

"Ovid's _Metamorphoses_. It's so beautiful," I marvel, not daring to touch the door as I really want to. "Amazing."

"I'm delighted you like it," Aro says, clearly pleased. "However, this is not what I want to show you."

We step back, and he opens the heavy doors easily, as though they were made of paper. What's inside, well, it's overwhelming. I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life. It's like a cross between the Vatican and the Library of Congress. Vaulted ceilings, a great dome in the center with natural light flowing in by skylights and high windows reaching far up to the town's surface. I've certainly never seen this from the outside—what must it look like? A block of apartments? A church? All around I see gleaming wood, spiral staircases, rows of desks with small barrister lamps in green and gold, but far more than that, as far as my eyes can see and quite probably far beyond, more books than I've ever seen in my life. Miles of books with leather spines, cloth spines, huge books, some as big as four feet tall and three across, bound in wood with intricate carvings and encrusted with jewels. There's an entire wall of cubbyholes sectioned off in triangles by white wood in X formation, filled with ancient scrolls.

And the scent, oh god. It's the scent a true book-lover lives for. The air reeks of ink, paper, dust and ideas. I could live here. We could live here, if there were a piano and a bathroom.

"Guh," I say brilliantly, feeling stunned. I can't manage anything further.

"Yeah," agrees Edward, taking my hand. "Aro, this is—I mean, Carlisle told me, but I never…" he trails off, nearly as overwhelmed as I am.

"This was Carlisle's favorite place while he lived here," Aro says wistfully. "And could be again, should he choose to return. We had many lively conversations here, and many wonderful chess games. Some of my favorite memories of him are in this place. It would please us greatly if the two of you make use of it whenever you like."

He walks in front of us, pointing out various aspects of the way everything is arranged chronologically by length and categorically by height. It's quite brilliant, actually, and I get overwhelmed again as I realize how many floors there must be above us, how many more books.

"This lowest floor is the rare book collection, and the oldest section of the library. As time went on we added the buildings above this and transformed them." He stops to give me a significant look. "Very few humans are allowed into the upper floors, let alone this level. There have been no more than eighteen humans in history who've had the privilege. It's an honor Marcus bestows on his very favorite writers, and now you, Isabella. But you won't count as a human for too long, will you?"

"Thank you," I say, feeling pure gratitude as we round a corner, approaching Marcus.

He's seated on this odd-looking loveseat that looks something like an elongated letter S, with room for two people sitting sidelong, or opposite one another depending on their position. His face is more relaxed than I've ever seen it, totally absorbed in whatever it is he's reading. It's a scroll, the edges of which seem very fragile. I'm afraid it will crumble to dust as we watch. We get closer, and I peer over to see the other side of the chair filled with other scrolls, small leather books with gilt edging and brightly dyed leather bindings, and several stacks of elegant envelopes, similar to the quality Aro uses, though the handwriting doesn't look familiar. It's feminine, and even more beautiful than Edward's.

"Marcus," Aro snaps impatiently, looking angry until the moment the other vampire lifts his head from the scroll. It almost seems as if they've traded expressions, because now Marcus seems angry and impatient, clearly unhappy with the interruption, whereas Aro grows visibly calmer. "I gave Edward and Bella the good news, so you may expect to see them here sometimes."

Marcus turns his attention towards us, as if it causes him great pain to do so. Once he sees us, however, he smiles, and it feels true, but sad, too. It's the most emotion I've ever seen him display since Seattle. Usually he's either lost in a book or just kind of apathetic. I don't know if it's the exhaustion or hormones or what, but just seeing that expression makes me want to cry again.

"You are welcome," he says, his voice floating ephemerally between us, thin and hollow as a ring of smoke.

**~oЖo~**

"I wonder what he was reading," I say softly, later that night in bed. "Do you know?"

We haven't spoken much since leaving the library through one of the upper floors. This was at Aro's suggestion, as he gave us security codes and handed us comically large brass keys to one of the ordinary-looking above-ground entry points for the library.

The hush of the library seems to have followed us home.

"Yes, I do know," Edward says, and his voice sounds fairly strangled with emotion. "I can't imagine. I can't—I don't know how he stands it. If anything ever happened to you, Bella."

He stops suddenly, and buries his face in my hair, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

"What, Edward?" I ask, stroking the bare skin of his back. "What is it?"

"He was reading her love letters," he says, his face contorted in compassion and anguish. "She loved him."

"Who?"

"His wife, Aro's sister."

"All of that, in the chair, that was from her?" I ask, and he holds me even tighter somehow. I take it as a yes. "What happened to her? Where is she?"

"She's gone," he says, softly. "She was murdered."

"But if she was a vampire, and so important," I say thinking of the centuries of thoughts, piled in the seat next to Marcus, apparently all that's left of her. "How could she be killed?"

"He doesn't know, but he wants to."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: dun dun DUN. If you don't want spoilers of any kind whatsoever, don't read the canon backstory for Aro and Marcus over on SM's website, or the Twilight Saga wiki. I personally don't consider them to be spoilers, since they're canon backstory. If you find yourself a bit confused with all the vamps and don't mind mild spoilage for Canzone, I do recommend reading it. **

**EPOV for Chapter 12 is up in Canzone Outtakes, thanks to Fuzzybunny322, in case you missed it. Thanks Fuzzy!**

**Haiti: I am writing a one-shot for MsKathy's Haiti fic compilation. If you donate as little as $5 to the Red Cross and send her the receipt, she'll send you a massive doc with lots of stories. You can help the survivors of Haiti's devastating earthquake and enjoy some stories by going to this link:**

**mskathyff(dot)blogspot(dot)com/2010/01/haiti(dot)html**

**Crackfic: Thank you to everyone who went to read our crackfic and voted. We won! I am now, with Feisty and NelsonSmandela, one of the worst authors in the fandom. OFFICIALLY. You guys rock. And again, I'm sorry, and no, I'm not on drugs. Why does everyone always ask me that?**

**A Different Forest: Hey, they're giving me a cabin! I wonder if I can actually live in it when I get fired for spending all my time on the internets. Thanks to everyone at ADF for extending this invitation. Some of my favorite authors hang out over there, and it was a nice surprise to get that email. Now they have to put up with my chimp-like confusion when confronted with new technology.**

**I'm probably forgetting something massive, but this A/N is so long it has to be stopped. **


	27. All Souls

**Chapter 27 All Souls**

**A/N: Thanks to the most awesome NelsonSmandela for the beta, to Algie, Feisty for music, Scarlett for secretkeeping and all of them for pre-reading, and Camilla10 for the Italian consultation. Thank you again to everyone out there who reviews, tweets, and pimps this story. I love you all, hard core. And thank you to everyone who nominated **_**200 Years of Solitude**_**, my angsty little short story, for an Eddie! That was unexpected, but very sweet. I should make people cry more often. Haha. Hahahhahahaha.**

**Chapter Music**

**Duo Curbelo playing **_**Spanish Dance nº1**_** by Manuel de Falla.**

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=uI6NpeMR5a0**

**Ramon Vargas sings **_**Caccini's Amarilli**_

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=VD6Yfa9Gp84**

**Claudio Monteverdi- **_**Ecco mormorar l'onde**_

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=_EMZ8A5nz60**

**Monteverdi- **_**Ohime ch`io cado**_

**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=O933ztu1eDM**

**Disclaimer: Even though it makes me ridiculously happy when KStew411 tweets it, I do not, in fact, own the Twilight.**

**~oЖo~**

"_I'm worried about you, baby girl," she says, soft, warm and spicy. "Didn't I tell you to watch out on Halloween?"_

"_What do you mean, Grandma?" _

_She gives me 'the_ _look'._

"_Use your head, Bella. What do you think I'm worried about?" She takes measuring tape out of her pocket and starts measuring me. "And now you've outgrown this costume I made for you."_

_I look __down and find I'm wearing the Little Red Riding Hood costume she made for me when I was eight years old. The skirt is scandalously short now, and the blood-red hood barely covers my shoulders._

"_That was twelve years ago!" I protest. "Of course I'm going to outgrow it."_

"_And what about my eyes, you think you've outgrown those too?" she asks, and as she blinks, her eyes change from warm brown to vampire black. _

"_I'm sorry Gran; I'd keep them if I could."_

"_You won't sleep," she adds, eyes changing back to normal. "You won't see me for a long time, not till the sun burns out. Your memory of me will fade, and you won't dream of me at all. How will I be able to help you then?"_

_I don't know what to say. I haven't thought of that at all. I feel horrible._

"_I don't want you to be lonely."_

"_Lonely? Baby, it's _crowded_ over here" she scoffs. "I'm more worried about you and the company you keep. Didn't I tell you that pretty doesn't equal good?"_

"_I know, but sometimes it's easy to forget." I don't think she's talking about Edward. I hope not._

"_And I've made a new friend, see? She's been telling me all about this wicked place you're in."_

_I turn my head, and it's true; there's a young woman with dark curling hair and sad brown eyes sitting by her. Seeing her here terrifies me, but I don't know why. I don't know who she is, or where _here _is_, _for that matter._

"_Who are you?" I ask, even though it seems like I should know this. _

_She shivers, so I give her my red hood, and she smiles at me._

"_You are kind and brave. You are not like them," she says with a voice as warm as the Italian sun. "Don't be afraid. Find me."_

_Grandma Swan takes my shoulders and shakes me, and the woman starts to fade into static. _

"_You're dreaming, girl. Wake up." Her voice is frantic, and deeper than usual. Her face begins to twist, changing until I no longer recognize her. She too, begins to turn into static._

"_I don't understand, Gran," I call out as she fades away. _

"Wake up." The voice sounds so loud I can't tell where it's coming from.

I sit up in bed, alone, and hear the front door shut, followed by the metallic clunk of a lock sliding into place.

"Edward?" I call shakily.

Quick as a breeze, he appears over me, small drops of rain still clinging to his hair and clothes.

"What is it, Bella?" he asks, gently checking me over. "Bad dream?"

"Will my eyes change color when you change me?" I ask, unable to completely clear the dream from my head, or the panic from my voice.

He freezes for a moment, then sits heavily beside me.

"Yes." His tone sounds bleak.

He doesn't elaborate, but it feels really important to me for some reason.

"What color were your eyes?" I persist, trying to make out his features in the dark. "Do you remember?"

"Green, like my mother's," he says slowly after a moment, using his sleeve to wipe his forehead. "But I don't really remember; that's just what Carlisle tells me. You can tell me if you're getting cold feet, Bella. Are you worried about changing?"

"No, I don't think so. Not really. I just kind of want to know what will happen, you know?" I lie back down, trying to imagine him with green eyes. "It was just— I was dreaming about my grandmother, and I don't want to forget her. I have her eyes. I didn't mean to make you sad."

"I love your eyes," he whispers, and I hear a rustle of fabric as he slides in beside me. "The windows to your soul, remember? I'd rather not lose them, or anything else of yours."

"I told you. If I have a soul, so do you," I promise, for what seems like the millionth time. "There is no part of me that does not touch the same in you."

I reach up for him, angling my mouth to his for a kiss. He pulls back slightly, kissing me on the nose instead.

"I just hunted," he apologizes. "Let me clean up, okay?"

He never likes to kiss me right after hunting, and it always bothers me. Even though he explained it to me, I always feel a little rejected.

I want to ask him if what he said before is true, that he can't kiss me after hunting because he's afraid he's still in killing mode and will lose control, or whether it's something gross, like he needs to rinse blood out of his mouth.

I want to ask if he ever wishes he could dream of his mother.

I want to ask him lots of things, but I'm afraid of the answers. I want to tell him that yes, I'm afraid of changing, but I don't dare. Knowing him, he'd decide that because I'm nervous about it, I don't really want to change, and he'll do something incredibly stupid to try to protect me.

So, I don't say any of that.

Instead, I stare at the ceiling until he returns, and I'm rewarded with a real kiss, like he's trying to make up for before. It's one of those slow, romantic kisses that don't even have to lead to anything else, because they're more about love than sex.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his lips skimming lightly over mine as he speaks.

"I think I'm the luckiest woman alive."

I can feel him smile, one of those big, rare Edward smiles that radiate pure joy. The kind of smile only I get to see.

"I think you're still dreaming, sweet girl. Go back to sleep." His fingers trace along my forehead and down the slope of my nose, just barely skimming the surface.

He does it again, and again, until the soothing action begins to lull me back to sleep.

~oЖo~

"What's this?" I ask, holding up the new container of tiramisu gelato I find in our tiny freezer.

He's booting up the laptop again, no doubt for more video conferencing with Alaska. I've gotten used to hearing the mellifluous voices of Carlisle, Eleazar, and Alice at various points throughout the day, quite often in my sleep.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, your favorite flavor?" he says, looking bewildered. "You seemed to enjoy it enough last night … and last week."

Italy and Edward seem to be conspiring against me.

"Clearly, I like it too much," I sigh. "I'm starting to burst out of my clothes."

"Really?" he says, his eyes sweeping over my body, lingering over my chest far longer than necessary for the task at hand. "I hadn't noticed."

I narrow my eyes at him, toss the container back into the freezer and round on him again, determined to nip this in the bud before I have to buy new clothes.

"Edward Anthony Masen Cullen, are you doing this on purpose?"

He sets the laptop on the coffee table and reaches for me.

"Isabella Marie Swan, should-be-Cullen," he mutters this last part under his breath, pulling me onto his lap. "You are exaggerating. You're wearing the same jeans you wore ten weeks ago when we got here. And who cares when it's going to all the best places?"

I notice his hands are rubbing my rear end through those same jeans with something approaching reverence, and my own hands move automatically to caress his hair.

He does need to stop with the ice cream, though.

"As much as I appreciate your support—okay, _enthusiasm_," I correct, as he presses the evidence of this into my rear end, "Remember, I don't like shopping, and this—" I pull up my shirt, revealing a simple purple bra showing more cleavage than it ever has before. "—is the only bra I have left that fits, which is an arguable statement at best."

His eyes widen, and he gets this dreamy look on his face as he gathers me closer to conduct an inspection of the area in question. Seriously, I'm an idiot, because even I should know what happens when you try to argue against an excess of boobage to men who are not Tim Gunn.

"I fail to see anything remotely resembling a problem here," he murmurs, nuzzling the soft, exposed skin. His nose is cool, and his chest rumbles a little.

"Well hello, sexy Italy," a deep drawl I'd know anywhere catcalls from the direction of the laptop.

"Jasper!" I squeal excitedly, hurrying to pull down my shirt as Edward shields me from the camera. "I haven't seen you since the—What the hell happened to your eyes?"

Jasper leans into the camera to give me a better look. His once-lovely blue eyes are now black rimmed with freakishly bloody red.

"Kinda crazy, isn't it?" he asks, turning his head slightly. "Believe me, they're way better than they were."

"She didn't need to see that," Edward says testily. "I'm sure you've both seen way too much just now."

"Hey, if you put on a show don't blame me for watching," Jasper teases as Edward scowls. "Relax, Edward, it's not like I bit your wife or anything."

Apparently, Jasper isn't completely over that.

"Oh shush, both of you," Alice's voice filters through before we see the blur as her head appears over his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck. "Don't let the testosterone poisoning get in the way of a beautiful reunion."

She's not wearing her sunglasses either, and while her eyes are similarly discolored, they are far easier to look at than Jasper's. I wonder what that means, if anything. They've all been telling me that Jasper hasn't been ready to participate in our chats, and I don't really know what that means, either. Sometimes I wish they'd just stop coddling me. I've read Edward's journals. I know what happens when a newborn vampire slips up. I don't know why everybody thinks I can't handle this.

"Bella, please don't ask," she interrupts as I'm opening my mouth to say as much. "It's for Jasper as much as it is for you. But I saw the problem you were, um, discussing with Edward, and I've taken the liberty of solving it for you. Everything you need is leaning against your door."

Sure enough, when I open our front door a brown box falls on the floor with a little thud.

"Alice, come on, I can't keep this," I frown once I open the packaging and see the store's silver logo on the white box inside. "Even _I _have heard of this store, and how expensive this stuff is. No way."

I mean it, but I'm kind of curious to see what she got me, so I peek anyway.

"Why can't you keep it?" Edward's chin rests on my shoulder as he looks as well. "I mean, Alice is family now, and you just said you're down to your last one."

"Oh my," I breathe, and gingerly push aside white tissue paper to touch a shiny-slick panel of silk edging soft, diaphanous material in an elegant design.

"You hate to shop, remember?" Edward's breath is a cool, tickling breeze in my ear. "I think you should at least try it on before you make any hasty decisions. I'll help."

"I bet you will. Come on, it's ridiculous to spend this much money on—" I stop mid-sentence as his lips find the spot right behind my ear, and I can't remember what I was going to say next. "Okay, thank you, Alice."

"When do I get to see?" Jasper laughs, and Alice smacks him playfully. He traps her arms and somehow manages to tickle her at the same time. "Hey, I didn't start this, but if you two are going to be showing off, you might as well make it classy."

"Thank you, Alice," Edward says, pointedly ignoring Jasper's comment. "So, before Bella distracted me, as you probably know already, I had some thoughts on the Marcus situation."

"I still don't see any changes, Edward." She shakes her head sadly. "But you have to keep trying. Every other way ends in disaster."

Chelsea, _again_. Always the same thing. Alice doesn't see Marcus listening to reason unless Chelsea leaves, and Aro watches Edward like a hawk, especially when she's around.

"But Aro keeps her practically chained to his side," he says, frustrated. "I've been trying since we got here."

"Sounds like Aro knows exactly where his weak spot is," Jasper observes. "Didn't you say she has a mate?"

"Afton. He's not around much," Edward says softly. "A very suspicious mind, very cynical. He spends most of his time pursuing Caius' interests."

Outside of painting and sculpture, I have no idea what interests Caius, and I don't want to know. Probably things like dogfights, ultra-violent hockey or bear-baiting. Something inherently cruel with lots of blood and yelling.

"Caius hates Edward," I volunteer. "I mean, he seems to hate everyone, but Edward especially."

"He's afraid I'm reading his mind," Edward confirms. "It's all he ever thinks about when I'm around."

"What's Caius' talent?" I ask. It's never come up.

"Eleazar says he doesn't have one. He says Caius is just really old, and really fucking ruthless," Jasper shakes his head thoughtfully. "And that Aro never touches him, from some agreement they made early on."

"I'll focus on Afton," Edward says, and Alice gasps a little, sitting up straight. "What is it? Some change?"

"I'm not sure yet," she shrugs after a moment. "It's all jumbled up again, which is better than it was."

~oЖo~

Volterra almost seems like two separate places to me: the glamorous, shadowy world of vampires, which I find intriguing and slightly scary, and the comfortingly boring human world, which seems to find _me, _or at least my necklace, equally intriguing and slightly scary.

The human and vampire worlds come together once every four weeks, whenever my choir has a concert. I've come to count on the presence of vampires, and my eyes automatically seek out their conspicuous, eerie beauty in the audience. It isn't hard to find them. Aro has the best private box seats.

I'm just gathering my things after choir rehearsal when the director calls out to me.

"Signorina Swan," he says in heavily accented English, always more deferential to me than anyone else. "Please to be learning this aria for the next concert. Is a special, ah, request from _il Patrono_."

There hasn't been the customary formal audition for solos, but nobody questions it. By the way everyone's eyes get bigger when he mentions _my patron_, it looks like he doesn't want to have to explain it to anyone else, either.

I take the score from his outstretched hand and start looking at it. The moment I read the words, I choke on my bottled water.

Fucking Aro.

"Something is funny?" the woman sitting next to me asks, in heavily accented English.

It's the first time anyone has asked me a question that wasn't completely necessary, and it takes me a moment to get over my surprise. I've caught her staring at the golden V dangling from my neck several times, though this is the first time she's sung right next to me.

"The music, it amuses you?" she asks with polite curiosity, and maybe a little trepidation.

"It's my patron's idea of a joke. He's just teasing me," I say quietly, and she looks confused, so I repeat myself in Italian, hoping I'm saying what I mean.

"I see, _uno_ _scherzo_," she nods, her expression polite, but a bit tight around the edges. "I see. Your patron, he likes to make jokes?"

I shrug and smile apologetically. There's a line when it comes to talking about the Volturi with humans, and I feel uncomfortably close to it.

"You are not at liberty to say," she observes, and eyes me speculatively as I look away, not sure how to respond. "Don't worry about it. _Ci prendiamo un caffè_?"

I usually have coffee by myself, doing my Italian homework in the afternoon between classes. It's nice to have an invitation from someone who speaks English and understands my limitations.

"_Si, perché no_?" I say, grateful for a little human interaction.

I'm just about to ask her name when Edward shows up, looking anxious.

"Bella, can you come quickly? Something's come up," he says urgently, taking my book bag.

My stomach drops as I go through a mental list of everything that could go wrong. Aro finding out about Alice and Jasper, Something happening to Charlie or Renee. Jasper slipping up again. Emmett slipping up again. Alice giving a warning of some kind—will Aro find out what we've been hiding from him? How much time to we have to get away. _Can_ we get away?

"What is it?" I ask, terrified.

"I can see that now is not a good time, Isabella," the woman says, watching Edward warily. She backs away slowly. "Perhaps another day?"

"Yes, forgive me," I murmur absently as Edward takes me by the hand.

"Did Alice send you?" I ask dully, once we're outside.

"She did," he says, turning to me. "Look, I'm sorry I scared you, but you can't just go around having coffee with humans, Bella. Alice called to warn me."

"Warn you? About what?" I ask, relieved and confused all at the same time. "I can't have friends?"

"It isn't safe," he says calmly.

I can't really accuse him of patronizing me, but the whole situation feels ridiculously overblown.

"You're overprotective," I argue, annoyed now. "Everyone says so. It's just coffee, for crying out loud."

"For her, Bella," he clarifies. "It isn't safe for her."

Oh. Crap.

Shame wells up inside me as I realize it didn't even occur to me that anyone could see the two of us having coffee together, even in sunshine. Aro would hear about it within hours, if not sooner, and the poor woman would have his unenviable attention.

"I guess I owe Alice, big time," I say, barely able to hear my own voice. "I guess I wasn't thinking."

"Hey, It's okay," he says, lifting my chin. "You didn't mean anything by it and we caught it in time. Crisis averted. Nobody got hurt."

I can't believe I just criticized him for being overprotective.

"Thanks to you," I frown, guilt making me twist my hands together. "Thank you for stopping me, Edward. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her because of me."

"Come on, let's get you home," he says, kissing my forehead, nose and cheeks. "We can take it easy, and you can call your mom or Angela. You're not cut off from all human interaction, you know."

**~oЖo~**

When we arrive for the usual weekly meeting with Aro, Felix meets us at the library entrance and guides us not to the usual room but to the great hall, where a gleaming black grand piano has been set up as it was when we first arrived. There are two dark vampires I've never seen before, a man and woman. They seem older, like Aro, Marcus, and Caius. The male's posture seems kind of closed off, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The female stands behind him, her eyes fixed on her own hands. She makes the Ancients' wives seem like raging feminists by comparison.

Most, if not all, of the Volturi seem to be around as well, looking calm and somehow more refreshed than I've ever seen them, as if they've all just had Thanksgiving dinner and a nice nap. Renata's presence behind Aro completes the suggestion of a formal occasion.

Edward sniffs, and I feel his entire body tense for a moment, his arm curving protectively around me before something unspoken passes between Aro and him. He nods minutely, as if acknowledging a point well made, and relaxes by a few degrees. I inhale, trying to understand, and catch a faint tinge of copper in the air.

"The entertainment has arrived," Aro calls out in what I recognize now as his formal voice. "Edward and Isabella, I would like you to meet our visitors from Egypt, Amun and Kebi. Amun, these are the very talented musicians I was just telling you about."

"I still don't believe you," Amun states flatly. "The way you justify your exceptions, Aro. Why don't you just admit that the rules you created don't apply to you instead of making up such ridiculous stories?"

"My old friend, I was hoping you would say that," Aro laughs, eyes sparkling with fiendish anticipation. "I think a demonstration would be delightful for everyone. First, Amun, why don't you ask him a question, but only in your mind?"

Amun looks incredibly uncomfortable for a moment, and glares at Edward.

"Yes, it's true that I don't consume human blood … it is the way of my coven," Edward says politely. "Yes, I have tasted human blood before … It's also true that I can only hear whatever thoughts are presently in your mind, and that you do not believe me when I say this."

Amun's eyebrows lift slightly, but otherwise, his face remains expressionless. He doesn't seem to have finished with his questioning, because Edward keeps talking.

"I have no way to prove it … No, Aro does not have access to my thoughts, for that very reason. Yes, Aro respects my request, as he respects yours and that of Caius … Yes … Images, mostly. No, I do not hear her thoughts … a few of them are very skilled at keeping their thoughts calm in my presence, but I can still observe from their minds … That, I have no way of knowing, and I wouldn't tell you if I did." Edward begins to sound increasingly irritated, and he's not the only one.

"I think that's enough," Aro interrupts, a bit brusquely. "Now, Isabella. Unfortunately our visitors have no special talent, so we'll have to use one of the guard. Who among the talented have we tried? She blocks Edward, little Jane, Demetri, Corin, and me completely. She blocks Chelsea nearly all the way, and Marcus only a little. Let's see, who haven't we tested?"

I get the feeling that he's using this as an excuse to display the collective power of the Volturi, to brag about all of his talented guard members more than he's actually trying to decide how to test me.

Apparently Amun gets the message.

"No, not you," Aro says with blatant derision when Chelsea's mate Afton steps forward. "Afton, you deal with objects, not people. What do you think you can do, check her for forgery? Where is Alec? Come forward, young man. Your talent has certain visual advantages."

Afton bristles, humiliated and seemingly forgotten as he slips into the background. Alec seems completely unsurprised by his summons as he steps forward. It makes me think Aro's been saving Alec expressly for this visit. Edward has been dreading this test, ever since Eleazar explained what Alec and Jane do during a trial. He doesn't even know the worst of it. If he did, well, Alice didn't tell me what he would have done, but she said it wasn't good. I'm just glad it's going to be over soon.

"First Edward," Aro says to Alec. "I'm curious as to whose talent will win out."

Alec smiles, his eyes a gentler echo of his sister's twisted excitement. A fine mist forms around him, and begins a slow, creeping journey to where we stand in front of the piano. Edward steps slightly towards it, as if shielding me, unnecessary as that is. The mist gathers around him, seeping into his clothing and swirling around his head until it seems to disappear altogether. I step forward, and am horrified to see his eyes clouded, his face tilted awkwardly, like he can't see anything.

I touch his hand, but there is no response. At least, not at first. After a moment he carefully turns his hand and holds it up to me, though he doesn't turn his head.

"Aha, you can still see her then," Aro says, leaning forward. "Now everyone, close your eyes."

I assume he's not talking to me, so I watch in fascination as all the vampires, save two, close their eyes.

Edward sniffs the air, and relaxes, the tension loosening his shoulders in a way that seems completely unfamiliar to me. His face changes too, and it seems calmer than I've ever seen him before, particularly around the Volturi. While I've seen him happy plenty of times, there's always an underlying sense that he's bracing himself against something. I've never seen him this relaxed, period—not when he plays the piano for pleasure, not when he laughs, not even when we're naked. Then it hits me.

He can't _smell_ me.

"What can you see? Tell me the truth," Aro says, eyes narrowed.

"I can still see through your eyes, Aro," he says, and smiles softly. "I only wish I could feel her touch as well as see it."

Aro does not seem pleased with this at all, but as he leans back in his chair, his expression returns to his standard amused, calculating, all-observing gaze.

"Now try Isabella, Alec, if you will."

The mist swirls away from Edward, and his hand grips mine painfully before he realizes what he's doing.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs as the tension reclaims him. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm okay," I reassure him, as my hand throbs in protest.

My scent seems to be far more of a burden than I've ever fully appreciated.

The mist swirls around me, and sort of hovers over my clothes, but does not seem to rise above my neck. My skin tingles like there's a damp breeze, and I smell more than the usual amount of vampire sweetness. My limbs feel a painful prickling, like they're falling asleep.

Just as Alice told me they would.

"Anything?" Aro asks, as he watches me carefully.

"It just feels like … mist," I say, looking down at the amorphous vapor to cover my lie.

I can barely feel my legs, but I can still move them; they still obey my commands. I move my hand experimentally, forcing a little smile. Alice told me the lie would work as long as I don't look at Aro.

"That's a no for Alec, then," Aro says, sounding neither pleased nor displeased. "See, Amun? Her potential is outstanding."

Alec's face remains impassive as the mist returns to him, but Jane seems to be equal parts relieved and annoyed that her twin failed as much as she did.

"I can see why you would want to change her," the foreign Vampire concedes. "But why wait?"

"You've heard what untrained vampires can learn to play on the piano tonight," Aro says, and I wonder who's been playing. Probably Aro or Heidi. "Now see what happens when a talented, trained human musician gets changed. Edward, would you be so kind as to play the Spanish duet I sent you this morning?"

"Certainly," Edward says, and I move to stand behind him so I can see his hands as he plays.

He closes his eyes in preparation, and I get excited, having seen the practice run of this before. Edward could never play this in public, as his hands move with a speed that would surely give away his non-human nature. Earlier, he said it was the most challenging thing he's ever played, and his face was utterly beautiful as frustration finally gave way to elation as his hands and feet coordinated to play nearly all of the notes meant for four hands to play simultaneously. As he begins, everyone around us fades until they are a colorless afterthought. The melody makes me think of a bonfire on some Spanish beach, flames echoed in the color of his hair, the furiously twirling skirts of dancers suggested by his fingertips in motion.

The piece sounds slightly different than when two people play it, simply due to the fact that Edward has only ten fingers, and there are some places in the score for which even vampire speed can't compensate. However, most of these passages consist of parallel chords, so the change is barely noticeable. His combination of speed and artistry turn the column into a virtual spotlight, and while I cannot take my eyes away from the blur of his hands, I can feel the air around us fairly crackling with the breathless, focused attention of every person in the great hall. Nothing exists that isn't Edward or the keys. I wonder what his hands seem like to vampire eyes, because all I see are the pale blur moving as fast as propellers on a plane in flight, wheels in motion.

From what I can see of his face, it's very nearly the look he gets when we're together: not when he comes, but when _I_ do. The moment I see him only through a haze of the most intense pleasure, when I cry his name and his determined expression turns into one of utter gratification. Seeing that look sustained on his face makes me want to throw him down and violate him in front of everyone, and I can tell from the flare of his nostrils and the smile tugging at the side of his mouth, he knows it.

I feel nearly drunk with wanting him, and steady my knees against his piano bench.

After the furious pace of the ending, the great hall erupts in applause as it returns to full color, and when I look up at the sound, I see a room full of exquisitely beautiful women who clearly want to do very naughty things with my man. From the looks of it, I'm fairly certain most the men would be game as well. Pride and jealousy tangle in my stomach as he politely acknowledges the clapping. But then his hand finds mine, and his fingers caress the tender skin of my wrist in a subtle, sensual reminder of our mutual possession. He turns his face, as if to whisper in my ear, but instead places a sweet kiss where his words might have gone. My cheeks burn with pleasure, knowing he has just shown everyone exactly who it is he wants.

"And you've heard untrained vampires singing this evening. Now, finally, I would like to hear Isabella sing," Aro says, ignoring the charged atmosphere and our uncharacteristically public display of affection. "The Caccini, if you please."

I'm kind of surprised that he would ask for something so easy, since I have much more impressive repertoire to choose from. There's probably a hidden message in it for Amun, knowing Aro.

"The old madrigals seem so simple, and one almost always hear them done poorly by beginning students" he explains, making me even more suspicious. Charlie always says that if someone starts explaining when he doesn't have to, he's probably lying. "When approached with skill, they remind me of the reason I fell in love with this music in the first place."

I get a little more nervous than usual, knowing this performance means something to Aro, but not knowing precisely what. I take my position in the curving nook of the piano, close my eyes and summon the column, waiting until I feel it again through the pulsing silence, vivid as a lighthouse beacon. I lift my face at the same moment Edward begins to play, our musical connection so instantaneous now we hardly need to use signals at all.

As I sing the words to _Amarylli mi bella_, I'm reminded of Aro's penchant for symbolism, particularly when it comes to flowers, and realize that the song he has chosen for me to sing could be interpreted in many ways. He's sent me so many flowers that by now I have all their meanings memorized. In giving this virtual Amaryllis to his visitors in the form of music, he might be showing them pride, determination. That would go along with his bragging theme.

The column works for me as well, and I find myself easily wrapped in this achingly lovely melody, and words I could have written myself. The Italian is easy to translate, and makes me think of Edward when he gets jealous, so much that I wonder if Aro has chosen this song with a message for him as well. Even though he's kept his promise and never even tried to touch Edward's skin, it doesn't take a mind reader to see the jealousy and possessiveness that seem to bubble to the surface any time Demetri's name gets mentioned, or worse, if he's around. It's easy to mean it when I sing the words that roughly translate into "Do you not believe, O my heart's sweet desire, that you are my love? Believe it, and if fear assails you, do not doubt the truth."

Not that I don't get jealous, too. Renata, Heidi, and Chelsea don't even bother to hide their obvious desire for Edward, nor their bafflement at our relationship.

I can understand their confusion.

"_I tried explaining it to them_," Aro said to Edward on one memorable occasion."_But they haven't seen through Carlisle's memories just how beautiful Rose and Tanya really are. They don't realize what you've resisted up till now_."

Now that I think about it, I can kind of understand what drives Edward so crazy about Demetri. Having some vague idea that someone wants what you have can be easily ignored, but having it spelled out like that? It's crazy-making. Shaking my head to get rid of those thoughts, I look to the one place where my doubts fall away, so I stare straight into his eyes while I try to tell him what he means to me.

_Aprimi il petto e vedrai scritto in core_: Open my breast and see it imprinted on my heart.

There is another story behind the Amaryllis, and her fateful love for the shepherd who ignores her until she pierces her heart to create the perfect flower he wants. It always reminds me of what I first felt for Edward, and still feel at times. I feel so completely inadequate in comparison with him and all the stunningly beautiful vampires around us. Who wouldn't feel that way, seeing them everywhere, and then having to confront all my flaws in the mirror? Even though he says he loves me, and proves every day that he wants me, a part of me still doesn't get it, cannot forget that we aren't equals. Not yet, anyway. And he doesn't seem to understand, so I don't talk about it. I don't tell him that what pleases me most when Aro is pleased, is that it means I'm just that much closer to my transformation.

**~oЖo~**

Every month, our choir and various other ensembles focus on a couple of composers who made revolutionary changes in music, and the night of the Palestrina to Monteverdi concert comes just a few nights after the visitors return to Egypt. I have to hand it to Aro, he knows how do design a program. The music goes not only in chronological order, but each piece also shows a link in a chain of ideas progressing from music that is quite lovely, but still fairly simple, to the brilliant weaving of harmony, melody, and poetry that defines the lush tapestry of Baroque Italian music in general, and opera specifically. Palestrina was Monteverdi's teacher, and you can definitely tell it from the bits of harmony and melody echoing from one piece to the next. A few notes in one religious work turns into part of a melody in a love song a decade later, only to be improved and set to better text by the student several decades after that. The music is just gorgeous, each piece flowing into the next in such a way that you get the full effect of a new kind of music emerging as if you were watching flower opening in time-lapse photography.

Jasper would love it, and I make a mental note to send him the program.

I can almost imagine Aro witnessing this music for the first time, centuries ago when it was brand new, and it makes me wonder if he, too, thinks he has no soul. I doubt he thinks about souls at all. Carlisle and Edward were humans during a time when religion was something for which people lived and died, and went to war. Romans needed no such pretext; war had its own god after all. Aro was human during a time when civilization meant domination, and the only thing that mattered was reason and law, backed by ruthless brute strength. Without music … well, I don't like to think about Aro without music. I shudder to think of what he was like before music gave him something to do.

As I walk forward to sing my solo, I give myself over to the truth and, oddly, the beauty of the lyrics as they fly through my head in a last-minute mental rehearsal. Of course I've had time to get used to Aro's little prank and to figure out how I want to respond. What I didn't count on was an opera box full of vampires sitting within throwing distance while I'm trying to sing in front of several hundred people who aren't in on the joke. Most of the vampires look bored, except for Aro, who of course looks very pleased with himself, and Edward, who has positioned himself as close as possible to me, and near enough to the edge so that he can move out of Aro's reach.

It takes just about all my concentration to trip on purpose without actually hurting myself, and the crowd gasps en masse while the conductor steadies me with one hand, already conducting with the other. Careful not to lose the column, even while performing a little comedy, I look up at the exit sign, and open my mouth to sing the song that could have been written for me, had I lived in Monteverdi's time.

"_Ohimé ch`io cado_" I sing, and there's no need for me to ham it up. The audience laughs.

It's a song about a klutz. Sure, it's a metaphor for falling in love too easily, but the words are unmistakable. In English, it goes:

_Alas for me, I tumble down, alas for me,_

_my foot slips again, just as it did before._

_and my lost and withering hope_

_must I once again water with fresh tears._

I allow myself a glance at the box, and almost immediately have to look down again, heat infusing my cheeks as I try to ignore several vampires shaking, fairly _vibrating_ with silent laughter. Even Edward, for fuck's sake.

I'm kind of annoyed by that, and after another stanza I throw him a dirty look to make it fairly clear how I feel. That's when the vampires stop holding it in, and several laugh openly. I glare at Edward while he mouths the word "sorry" at me with a helpless shrug of his shoulders, inspiring another round of bell-like snickering and giggling all around him.

_O immortal champion _

_I am angry… _

I let myself fume a little, because I always sing better when angry, and the only alternative would be to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. Most of the words no longer apply to real life, so I just focus on the column and make the most beautiful sound I possibly can. It seems to work, and by the time I get to the last part, I can feel that the audience, _vampires included,_ is totally on my side.

_Oh, do not deny me_

_the glance and the laughter;_

_so that my prison_

_on such a beautiful ground_

___should become a paradise._

It's not a huge opera aria, but it turns out to be possibly the best performance I've ever given, and as the last note echoes back to me I hear multiple shouts of "_Brava_!"from the audience over the sweet sound of applause.

The first shout, I'm almost certain of it, comes from Aro.

**~oЖo~**

"Well done," my almost-friend says to me as we exit the stage.

I still don't know her name. And I almost...

I smile at her reflexively, but start to panic as she seems to take this as an invitation to talk more. I've been avoiding her before and after rehearsals, even going so far as to arrive late and leave the moment we stop singing. I was hoping she'd take the hint.

"Thanks," I reply, barely able to look at her.

She looks like she wants to say something, but backs off when Edward meets me backstage.

"It's for the best," he says, steering me quickly toward a secret passage where we have a moment alone.

"I know, I know, but I still feel like a jerk," I confess. "She really seems like she wants to be my friend."

"Try not to think about that, okay?" he says, and I open my mouth to ask if he had gotten another text or call from Alice when he murmurs, "You did well, Bella. I know Aro was impressed."

"Indeed I am," Aro says as he emerges from the shadows, flowers in hand.

"You both please me extremely well, my young friends. I'm growing quite attached."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N- **

**About the dream sequence: I know, it's a little out there, but dreams can be like that. Sometimes the subconscious mind has to tug on your dreams to get you to pay attention to things, you know? Feel free to guess what it means. **

**Just a little Italian this chapter.**

_***Ci prendiamo un caffè**_? – you want to go get coffee?

_**Si, perché no**_?– Sure, why not?


	28. Competition

**Chapter 28** **Competition**

**Thanks to the lovely NelsonSmandela for the super amazingly fast and competent beta (mere hours, people), to Algie and Feisty for music recs, and as always, to everyone who recs, reads, and reviews. Knowing ****you guys**** really want the next chapter lights a fire under my ass. **

**Chapter Music**

**Glenn Gould plays Bach's**_** Prelude in D minor**_** (BWV 926)**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=Ytmb4u2XDqU**

**Granados****- ****Danza española Andaluza, played by Yehudi Menuhin ****&**** Andres Segovia**

**(Classical guitar for the chapter at 2:58, but the violin/piano combo before is also verra nice)**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=tY6r-6xpGK0**

**Bach St. John Passion Chorus #1 Herr, Unser Herrscher**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=QIGy2x2KhCg**

**J.S. Bach: St. Matthew Passion BWV 244 Kommt, ihr Tochter, helft mir klagen**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=Dl9lL_ou8c4**

**Disclaimer: Twilight's not mine, and Bella's not prego, although I can see how some of you came to that conclusion. My bad. She's on hormonal birth control and living in a country known for having some of the yummiest food imaginable. These things in combination have been known to imitate the symptoms of pregnancy (they sure did with me!) A+B=C cups. Edward likes. I'm not even going to deal with whether Edward's stuff is viable or venomous or what. I have enough problems, so we gloss over, bah! **

**~oЖo~**

"_Curiosity is a highly underrated virtue_," I read off the card from the latest batch of flowers. "Okay, so Amaryllis is easy to figure out. I forgot what snapdragons mean. He seemed to be happy enough about the concert last night, right?"

Edward takes the card from me and examines it, giving it and the flowers a good sniff. He shrugs, taking the flowers from me, but I can tell he's getting tired of this particular kind of attention. He considers it to be just one of Aro's many methods of mindfucking.

I don't mind having fresh flowers all the time, and there's no arguing that the man has taste. While the floral choices seem to be geared for communication more than prestige of flower, the arrangements are always exquisite.

"Snapdragons have a double meaning," he says, setting the heavy rectangular vase unceremoniously on a side table. "It could mean graciousness, which makes sense given how you dealt with the solo he arranged for you to sing, or it could mean deceitfulness, or concealment."

"What?" I ask, unable to keep the panic out of my voice. "Do you think he knows something?"

"Hey, look at me," he says, taking my face in his hands, forcing me to look away from the flowers. "Don't worry about that, okay? That's my job. I'm going to take care of you."

I don't know why it's so hard to breathe. Most of the time I manage to block out the complexity and danger in our situation, but when I do sense it, I feel overwhelmed. Every time it happens, it's worse than the time before. I try to hide it from Edward, but I don't think he's fooled. I know he can smell the adrenaline in my veins, no matter how I control my expression. Fear uncoils in my stomach and strikes like a serpent, sending little electric spirals to my skin until I feel itchy with it.

"Yeah, but Edward, if he found out about—" he interrupts me by covering my mouth with his in a passionate, unyielding kiss.

At first I stiffen, but he knows me too well. His hands stroke the sensitive skin on my neck and around my ears, and his mouth, as always, makes me forget everything until I go limp in his arms, making little noises like some small woodland creature.

"Are you trying to distract me?" I ask breathlessly when he finally allows me to come up for air.

My skin still feels electric, but this time the spirals are hot, not cold, despite the chill of his touch.

Like magic. Or drugs. Whatever, this is better than any of that.

"Not at all. Say whatever you like," he murmurs, trailing mind-numbing kisses down my neck.

He pulls me closer, and spins me slightly so that my back meets the wall. Feeling slightly dizzy in the best way possible, I sink my fingers into his hair.

"You were saying?" he asks, pulling away enough to look into my eyes so deeply I start to get a little dazed. "Is there something you want to talk about, Bella?"

"Just this," I say, moving in the centimeters it takes for another kiss, like an addict.

This time he makes the noise, but from him it sounds more like an animal from the jungle, and my lips curve against his. I wonder briefly if it's right for us to use this as a coping mechanism, but then I can hear my heartbeat loud in my own ears, and it doesn't matter if it's right or if it makes sense because it's just _working_.

"That's right," he agrees, kissing my neck again at the pulse point, just a flick of his tongue as he tastes the skin there. "Just this. Don't think, just feel."

My eyes roll back in my head, and I let skin, nerves and small, incoherent noises become our only language.

**~oЖo~**

"Isabella," Aro asks at our next lesson, apropos of nothing. "You do know about Edward's rebellious period, do you not? How he lived on human blood for years?"

Edward seems to stumble on a note of the complex piece he's sight-reading, and Aro smiles at me with the corner of his mouth that Edward can't see. I look down at my music, wary of the intimacy of the gesture, of having a secret, with Aro, from Edward.

I don't want that.

"Of course I know about that." I try to keep my tone neutral, matter-of-fact. Surprisingly, it comes out that way.

"Doesn't it bother you?" he presses, his eyes looking a bit eager, anticipatory.

It's so weird. Give me some nice flowers when I'm safe at home and I freak out, but put me right under fire, and I'm strangely okay. Sometimes I think I'd make a decent cop, like the ones on TV who do a great job but drink a lot and can't stay married for more than a few months.

"Of course it does," I say, feeling nothing but calm in spite of Aro's obvious prodding. "But that was a long time ago, and he doesn't do it anymore."

He eyes me speculatively, making this small humming noise of assent, and for some reason decides to change tack.

"Edward, I don't know why I haven't asked you this before," he says, "but who's your favorite composer?"

"Impossible to answer," he says.

"Not at all," Aro argues, "Mine is Verdi. _Pfft_, done. How hard was that? Now, stop hedging and tell me who's your favorite. Use the mind Carlisle gave you and figure it out—use whatever criteria you like—most memorable and original melodies, influence on other composers, innovative harmonic structures, whatever you want—but tell me, if you have to pick one, who would it be?"

I'm pretty sure he's going to say Debussy, or at least another Romantic composer, but he shocks me by playing Bach's _Prelude in D minor_. I've heard Edward playing this and other pieces by Bach, usually right before or after talking to Alice or Eleazar about strategy. It kind of reminds me of how Angela's husband, Ben, would play with a Rubik's Cube whenever he was stuck on a math problem. I think it surprises Aro as well, because he practically recoils from the sound of it.

"You know that Bach didn't write one single opera," Aro mutters derisively, then sighs, as if resigned to an old argument. "So, what is it? Why him?"

"You said I had to pick one," Edward argues agreeably. "Based on the criteria you mentioned and a few others, he came out on top. Surely, you can appreciate how prophetic his harmonic structures are, how his work shows both genius and passion? Composers will be building on his ideas for centuries, and you know it. So, why does that upset you? Wasn't he one of your protégés too?"

Aro looks peevish for a moment, like he agrees but can't bring himself to admit it.

"Surely you can't be that upset. Our next choir concert is full of the most beautiful Bach chorales," I add, gushing. "So gorgeous and moving, I meant to thank you for choosing them. I was listening to the first movement of the _St. John Passion_, it just fills me with awe every time the choir comes in. It's breathtaking."

It really is. I sometimes play it ten times in a row on my iPod. It's one of those pieces that gives me same feeling I get while looking into the Grand Canyon—like I can see forever—all of time unfolding like a great river, cutting into the earth with all its weight, the force of gravity and the consequence of tens of millions of years. I don't say it because of what happened the last time I said something like this, but it also makes me think of Carlisle Cullen a little bit, too. There's something weighty and just indefinably _good _about it.

"Actually, I didn't choose any of those," he says in a waspish tone. "I let the choir master organize one program every year. Anything but Handel, I tell him. Full-blooded Italian man, and yet he picks that German Kapellmeister, every time."

"What, you don't like him either?" I ask carefully. "Is it because he wasn't Italian?"

"No, of course I recognize his talent; I am not a fool," he says coldly. "It displeases me because he wasn't _mine._"

I exchange a look with Edward, and he presses forward, having finished the prelude. Now he plays what I know is one of his own variations on it. It's slightly less articulated, but just as complex, and a bit richer in color, like a vivid oil painting based on a crisp black-and-white photograph.

"But you met him," he says, looking at Aro with scrutiny. "Even though he wasn't all that well known at the time. He really turned you down?"

"Three times, and even though he worked for a minor German prince, he refused to work for me." Aro nods, seemingly undisturbed by Edward's intrusion into his thoughts. "He said he only served the Holy Trinity. I wanted to kill him."

"But you didn't," Edward says. "Because of the music. You'd stay and listen, knowing what it was, how brilliant he was. Knowing that he knew it, too, and didn't care."

"Oh, he cared. He wanted recognition, but he wasn't willing to bargain with me for it. He was so stubborn, but somehow he knew what I was about," Aro insists. "He'd play for me, his best work. It was wasted on them, the small-minded bourgeoisie, and even the nobles who paid him to lead the church choir. They kept him unknown, unappreciated, wasted. I could have helped him. I could have made him great, if only he would bend just a little. But he wouldn't. He'd finish playing things that only a genius or a vampire could fully appreciate, and then he'd point up to the rafters of his shabby little church and say '_Soli Deo Gloria_', only to the glory of God!"

"So you didn't help him," Edward says, marveling. From the look on his face, he must be getting the Technicolor version in Aro's thoughts, and I'm kind of jealous. "He nearly slipped into obscurity as a result. But other composers kept his work alive, and he gets more recognition every century."

"That he does. And I let it happen, as he wished" Aro says, looking equal parts smug and disgusted. "He never got to taste any of the glory while he lived. Protestants, I tell you, and especially from that era! Bach, Carlisle, you can't do anything with them. Utterly intractable, and for what? How do you compete with an invisible, imagined ideal? Still, I tried. Tell me, is Carlisle still religious?"

"We don't speak of religion," Edward says evenly. "But it is sometimes in his mind, particularly when he speaks of compassion, of a higher good."

"Well, that's some progress, I suppose," Aro sighs. "I managed to temper at least that aspect of his personality. You should really thank me for that, Edward. What about you, Isabella? Are you religious?"

"Um, not particularly, no," I say, not wanting to give him the intimate, more complex answer I gave Edward when he first asked me. "My father's mother was Catholic, but neither of my parents had any use for religion, so I wasn't brought up with it. M-my father, he likes the stoic philosophers."

"That's excellent, my dear," he says, sounding genuinely pleased. "It's so much easier to work with someone who doesn't have the prejudices of superstition. Perhaps that is why you are so calm around us, yes? You know Edward, sometimes I really think you don't give Isabella enough credit. I can understand your wanting to protect your mate, but I think she's tougher than you think."

If he only knew.

He flashes a sharp, shiny smile and turns his head, so that only I can see the change in expression flicker in his face so fast I'm not even sure I saw it. I shut my eyes tight and see it against my eyelids, like a photograph. And I don't understand it, not even remotely. It's not hatred, but it's just as intense. It's not desire either, but it's just as determined, if not more so. It reminds me of the looks on the faces of the best athletes, like Lance Armstrong, Michael Jordon, or Muhammed Ali right before a competition. It's a dominating, piercing confidence.

And it chills me.

**~oЖo~**

The nights finally start getting cooler, and I start sleeping with the windows closed. I miss having them open though, because Volterra makes some strange and lovely sounds in the evenings. You never know when you're going to hear music echoing up and down the narrow streets, and from our vantage point on the top floor, I often hear it from two or three different directions.

I'm not surprised then, when one night I wake alone to the delicate sounds of Spanish guitar. It's an absolutely lovely song, but there's something off about it that's hard to place. The rhythm is right, but it sounds a little mechanical. If it wasn't so obviously coming from a real guitar I'd think it was computer-generated. It sounds close by, and lacks the hollow, haunting resonance of a far-away echo, so I get up and go to my window to investigate. When I draw the curtains and look out, I see nothing, but the guitar sounds like it's coming from the next building.

Maybe because I'm still half asleep or maybe because I'm stupid, I open the window to get a better look, trying to make out whose window is open enough to let the music carry this far, so clearly.

"Aha, I knew this would get your attention," a silky male voice says, so close by I feel my heart skip in my chest.

"Ow!" I jump, bumping my head against the window sill.

Annoyed and in pain, I look up and to the right, where my least favorite vampire sits on the rooftop of the building next to ours, holding a very pretty guitar. He's close enough that I can see it's painted with flowers and, if I'm not mistaken, which I really hope I am, what looks like a faint smear of blood near the bottom. Charming.

"Dammit, Demetri, what the fuck are you doing up there?" I hiss, pulling a robe over my thin nightgown.

"Come on, you like it. Otherwise you wouldn't have opened your window," he wheedles, craning his head to look at me. "If I learned anything from last week's concert, it's that all women love musicians."

I don't even want to think about the conversations and exchanges he must have had with certain female vampires to come to that conclusion.

"So you decided to take up the guitar because you're not getting enough play?"

"It's not the quantity I'm concerned about, but the quality," he says, sounding as though he's handing me a rose or something. "Your hair looks really wild tonight, Bella. I like it this way."

His eyes gleam, catlike in the near-dark, and my cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"Are you in the habit of waking up unsuspecting women to tell them what their hair looks like?"

"Yes," he says, and I roll my eyes. "But that's not the only reason I wake them up."

He smiles, but it seems like a practiced seduction, not a real smile. Like his guitar playing, it's technically accurate, but not overly compelling.

"Great." I'm thoroughly annoyed now. "Thanks for the song, but I really need to sleep. Go away, Demetri."

I move to close the window.

"Stop, or I'll come inside," he warns, and moves so quickly I only notice that his guitar suddenly lies next to him.

"You wouldn't," I say. "You're not supposed to. I know that much."

"No, I'm not. And I'm not going to hurt you, but just give me a second." He crouches at the juncture of our two buildings, his face just a few feet away from my window. "I just want to talk to you."

"You should really leave before Edward gets back," I say, feeling more than a little creeped out. "Not that I wouldn't love to see him kick your ass for this."

"Edward isn't anywhere near here," he says, tapping his forehead. "Tracker, remember? Besides, I don't think you should be so eager to see a fight between us. Unless violence turns you on, that is. I'd put up a good fight for you, you know."

"You're disgusting. I don't want a fight; I just want you to leave me alone."

He doesn't look like he believes me.

"Here, I'll keep playing, just talk to me for one more minute, and I'll go away," he says, starting his song over again. "You like the music, don't you?"

"Of course I like music," I clarify. "It's kind of what brought me here."

"You think so?" he laughs. "Bella, you are very naïve. I imagine that's what he likes about you. I know I like it. Even now, after he's had you so many times, and you look more like a woman than you did last year, you still manage somehow to come across like an innocent."

I pull my robe tighter, and glare at him.

"You look pretty when you're angry, too."

When Edward says it, I blush, but when Demetri says it, it just sounds cliché.

"Is that blood on your guitar?" I ask pointedly. "Did you actually kill someone to get it?"

"See? That's what I'm talking about. You're naïve," he says dismissively. "Bella, for someone who lives with a vampire, you seem to be amazingly judgmental of our nature. Don't think your Edward is so perfect."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, in spite of my better judgment.

"He's been sheltered far too long, under the influence of unnatural vampires. It's only natural that now that he sees how he could live, he will start to be more like us. I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't happen very soon, in fact."

"You think he'll just start killing people after eighty years of abstinence, just because everyone else is doing it?"

"I met Carlisle Cullen. He's a puritan, an oddity still living under the influence of his human history. From what I heard, Edward had over a hundred years of a different kind of abstinence, until you came along. The longer he's away from Carlisle the more like a real vampire he becomes, don't you see? We are sensual, dangerous creatures by nature, and Edward hasn't always been such a good Cullen, has he? He gave into his nature once; it will happen again. Killing is only part of what I'm talking about, of course." His eyes glitter like little stones, his face lit from the street below, and it reminds me of kids telling ghost stories with flashlights under their chins.

He's baiting me. I know he's baiting me, so I don't say anything.

"For example, while it is true that once mated, it's for life, but we cherish loyalty far more than physical fidelity," he continues, as though I had encouraged him. "Most vampires in civilization enjoy a variety of pleasurable relationships. Eternity is a very long time to be monogamous, don't you think?"

"I should have known you'd go there with this," I mutter, exasperated. "Just … go home, okay?"

"Except for Aro's wife, of course," he says with a shrug, ignoring me. "Anyone who touches Sulpicia faces execution. But that's to be expected, with his gift and rank. Too bad for her, because everyone else has quite a good time. You're a bit too inexperienced to understand this yet, but you'll see. And Edward is only a man, after all. He's no saint, like his father."

"You don't know Edward," I say flatly. "He's not like that."

"And you, my dear, don't know Chelsea," he laughs, and my stomach twists a little, even though I know why Edward looks at her. I hope. "I for one think you should prepare yourself. Some of us have taken up bets on how long it's going to take him to snap and give in to his true nature."

"Bets. You're taking bets," I snap, done with this. "That's just great. So what are you betting on, my murder or irrevocably broken heart?"

For a moment his mask slips, and he looks at me like he's truly surprised at the depth of my response. He almost seems concerned, but it's the first real expression I've seen in him yet. It's odd how it transforms his face. Unfortunately the change doesn't last long.

"Don't be so hysterical. It's not that bad! It's highly unlikely that he'll kill you if he hasn't already. But you really should know that your oh-so-perfect Edward looks at our lovely Chelsea quite often when you aren't looking. Now come on, aren't you the least bit curious as to what it's like with someone else? Someone more experienced, perhaps?"

I slam the window down abruptly, not caring to hear anything else he might have to say. The music continues, so I grab my phone and send Edward a text asking him to come home soon, just in case. Nothing dramatic, but I prepare one more urgent in case Demetri actually tries to come in. All I have to do is hit 'send', and I clutch the phone to my chest, climbing back into bed.

After a minute I hear a slight scratching on the window, and hit the button. Edward will be here soon; I just know it.

"I'm not going to force you, Bella, that's not my style," he says in a low voice, but it carries and sounds like it's coming from inside the room. "I won't have to. You're going to come to me for consolation."

I burrow under the covers, leaving enough of my head out to watch the window. I can see his lean silhouette through the white drapes, perched on my windowsill.

"Not going to happen, asshole."

He laughs, a hollow, ghostly sound.

"When he slips, you will come to me," he promises smoothly. "And I promise, I'll make it all better. I'll give you so much pleasure you'll forget all about these childish ideals of yours. You'll see."

My phone rings, and I pick it up.

"Bella, what is it?" Edward asks anxiously, and it sounds like he's going through a tunnel.

"I think someone's trying to break in," I whisper, loud enough for Demetri to hear. "How fast can you get here?"

Before I've finished talking, the shadow in the window disappears, and I hear the hollow jangling of a guitar hastily retrieved from the rooftop next door.

Coward.

It makes me feel better though. For all Demetri's talk of fighting for me and Edward's inevitable betrayal, the one I trust is rushing to my side and he's running off with his empty words. I sigh in relief.

"Less than two minutes. Just stay on the phone and don't speak unless someone comes in. Then I want you to yell loud enough for neighbors to hear, okay?"

In under one minute he says "It's just me" right before the front door opens. I hear the balcony door open in the living room, and then he's right next to me.

"Bella?" he asks softly, and I sit up, taking in his wild appearance in the soft lamplight. "I didn't smell anything unusual by the door or on the balcony. Maybe it was a bad dream?"

There's blood on his clothing, and I know I've not only interrupted his much-needed hunting but completely freaked him out in the process. He rarely spills any blood that I'm aware of. He's up against the wall, eyes wide, nostrils flared, and his hands clenched into tight fists. He looks like a serial killer on a rampage. I think about telling him the truth, but he seems to be so barely contained right now that I just don't dare.

"Maybe. I'm so sorry, Edward," I say, neither willing nor able to deal with his temper if I tell him the truth. I'll tell Alice tomorrow and ask her what I should do. "You're still hungry, aren't you? Maybe you should go back?"

I can't hide the fear in my voice as I make the suggestion, and from the look on his face, I know he hears it too.

"Don't worry about me," he says, slipping into the bathroom. "I'm glad you told me. I want you to tell me, okay?"

I hear the water running, and worry. If I tell him, I think he'll go hunting for Demetri, and I don't think that will end well. But if I don't tell him, how can I stop this from happening again, whenever Edward goes hunting at night? Can I ask him to go while I'm in class? It seems kind of clingy and wrong, but I really don't want a repeat of what just happened. If I'm going to tell him at all, it will have to be now. Indecision tormenting me, I decide to ask Alice now instead of later. The phone, still in my hand, buzzes with one new text.

_You did the right thing. Best possible outcome. Don't tell him. Erase this. _

I erase the message right as the water turns off, and I set the phone down, thinking. I'm still thinking, several long minutes later when he comes out, gloriously naked with steam rolling off of him and from behind the door. It's incredibly distracting.

"Are you still scared?" he asks, slipping into bed beside me.

His face is calm, hair is still wet, and his skin is still hard of course but almost … warm. It gets cooler by the second, but I run my hands along his shoulders and arms, marveling at the rapidly changing temperature. As many times as we come together like this, I'm always in awe of him, of how we are together. It never gets old. As I trace the lines of muscle and bone through the fluid marble of his skin, the growing familiarity of it makes me feel almost as if I'm memorizing him. I am his cartographer, and I carry the map of him deep inside me, marking and memorizing every hill and valley, every river-like vein, flowing now with clear venom, though still raised in various places as they would on a human.

Where my own veins show a path of blue, he likes to trace it with a light touch, from my wrist up my arm and continues the invisible route that eventually leads to my heart. This is his highway, as well as the buried treasure he never takes, no matter how much it sings to him. Every time we come together I know him more, as he knows me. Every time I touch him it's a deeper knowing—what light touch will make him shiver, what angle and shift of my hips will make him moan. I always want more—I need to know all of him in this way, and other ways, too.

This is how I know Demetri's wrong. In hundreds of lifetimes, I could never get tired of exploring the divine creature in my arms. The terrain may be limited, but instinctively I know there are infinite variations and combinations of touch, taste, emotion, and passion. I only hope the variations in which I am this fragile will come to an end soon. I know he suffers, and even though Edward says he doesn't mind, I'd love to be with him when he feels completely unleashed, when his throat doesn't burn for my blood.

I know Demetri's wrong. He is a hollow excuse for a man, vampire or not.

"Are you still afraid?" he repeats, looking concerned.

"No. I'm not scared now that you're here. I am still a little keyed up, though." As I speak, his body slides against mine, and I unconsciously open up to him. "Oh…"

"I can tell," he murmurs, settling between my legs.

There's just a very thin layer of silk between us, but it feels deliciously smooth, like his mouth on mine. Like my hands in his hair. Every part of him that touches some part of me thrills in the connection, and it fills in the cracks of every wrong thing that Demetri said to me.

Demetri doesn't know anything about us. I can easily believe that he knows the mechanics of giving pleasure just as he technically knows how to play a guitar, but he doesn't know how to make me feel safe. Edward makes love to me the way he plays music—with a depth of feeling and passion that someone like Demetri could never even imagine. And I can't imagine being able to trust anyone with my body the way I trust Edward.

Edward does everything effortlessly that Demetri was trying so desperately to simulate, and it's all because … with Edward it's real. Some things can't be faked.

"What are you thinking?" he asks against my ear. "I can hear the wheels turning in there."

I laugh, embarrassed at having been caught. No way am I going to tell him what I'm thinking. Somehow I'm pretty sure he'd skip over the compliment and focus on the other guy's name coming up in my thoughts at all while he's naked and rubbing up against me.

"You feel so good." And this is true, too. "I need to get these clothes off."

"What, this?" he asks, leaning on one side to tug on the knot of my robe, which has come open nearly every place but the waist.

He opens it like a present, little anticipatory smile and all.

"And this underneath," I say, propping myself up on my elbows to wriggle out of the robe.

"I kind of like this," he murmurs before kissing one peaky breast through the whisper-thin fabric.

His hands slide underneath, pulling up the short nightgown so I get the sensation of his mouth over silk and his fingers skimming over bare skin.

"I've changed my mind. I don't want to feel silk," he says, dissecting the fabric with one razor sharp fingernail. "I want to feel you."

I couldn't agree more, but I'm utterly incapable of speech at this moment, so I pull him to me in silent agreement.

He slides into me with no guidance at all, and it's just like heaven and home at the same time.

I wrap my legs around him and hold on while he thrusts a little harder than usual, glad of the soft bedding beneath us. It feels like there's some tinge of desperation to his movements, like he's trying to invade my mind and soul as well as my body. He owns the last two of these, no matter how private my thoughts have to be, and maybe that's what drives him like this. Maybe there's some desperation in my movements too, because I honestly don't care if it hurts as long as he gets closer, and it does hurt a little. More than pain I feel pleasure and reassurance, so I don't say anything. I don't tell him to go easy, I just moan and kiss the side of his face because I think he's biting my hair or the pillow underneath or both.

"I love you," I say, and I know I never want to do this without being able to say it, too. Without feeling it come back to me.

I hear only a faint whisper, but it sounds like my name, and I pull back to look at his face, because it's stunning how beautiful he is when he comes.

We stay very still, and I know I'm going to be sore in the morning but I don't care. right now I just need to feel this connection.

"Do you mind if we stay like this for a while?" he asks, his lips right on my ear. "I like covering you."

Edward is more of a shield than a blanket. I know that's what he wants, more than anything. Sometimes I worry about how he obsesses over my safety.

"Do you want to pretend to sleep?" I ask lightly, trailing my fingertips across his back and down in random motions.

He doesn't answer, but soon I hear soft snoring, and it makes me giggle.

"Hey, I fall asleep for the first time in nearly a century and you have to wake me up? Be nice, woman."

"Okay, Edward, snore all you want," I say, wiggling my hips. "But the real human needs to powder her euphemism, so move a little. You weigh more than my old truck."

I feel his eyes on me as I get up to go to the bathroom.

"What?" I ask, catching him staring at me in when I turn to shut the door.

He looks worried.

"You'd tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn't you Bella?"

I freeze, remembering Alice's text. _Best possible outcome._ Meaning: he would flip out.

"You ask that after the texts I sent tonight? Come on, Edward, I'm clearly going too far in the other direction. If anything I lean on you too much. I really shouldn't be so weak."

I smile apologetically and shut the door, but I hear his voice right on the other side.

"Don't say that. Don't even think it, Bella. You can always tell me," he says softly, still sounding a little anxious. "I don't mind, even if all you really need is a booty call."

I laugh, because the words _booty call_ are probably the last words I'd ever expect to hear from Edward Cullen's lips. I hear his soft laugh on the other side of the door, and in half a breath, the piano in the next room begins to play Bach.

**~oЖo~**

"Edward, I wonder if…" Aro trails off in a manner most uncharacteristic of him, but I'm too busy marking my music score to notice.

Suddenly the sound of my pencil's friction against the paper seems to be unbearably loud, and I notice a tension, thick and palpable as skunk spray in the room. I look up and my stomach tightens.

Aro's looking a little too intrigued, and Edward looks about as comfortable as a bag of cats, and I wonder just what the hell kind of thoughts Aro's sending right now. I don't have to wait long to find out.

"Why?" Edward asks tightly. "You've never asked me to leave her side down here before. Why now?"

"It's Caius. He doesn't believe you trust me at all," Aro replies with preternatural calm. "He bet me that you wouldn't part with her for even a minute."

Well, to be fair, we knew this was coming, and we know what it means. I've been hearing Edward and Alice argue about this for the past few days. Even though he's had time to get used to the idea, he seems almost as upset about the idea when Alice first told him about it.

"_He's really starting to consider letting her change soon," she had said. "And at no time has he intended to hurt her. It's just a test, Edward."_

"_He can change his mind at any time, Alice.__ I won't allow it.__"_

"_It's an improvement of at least five years. He won't let her go until you agree__ to this, I've seen it__. The sooner__ you agree__, the better."_

"Perhaps Caius is right after all," Aro says, disappointment clouding his already milky eyes.

"What's going on?" I ask, watching Edward's jaw clench.

A very bad sign.

"Aro has asked me to give Caius a message."

"What's so bad about that?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

It must have worked, because they both look at me in surprise.

"If it helps Aro win a bet against Caius, I'll deliver the message myself," I offer, turning to Aro. "What's the message? You two can just keep staring at each other till I get back."

Aro laughs. Edward looks horrified.

"Bella, you are not going to go wandering around by yourself down here!" he explodes. "Do you know how many hungry vampires there are?"

"You did not just say that, Edward," I argue, genuinely annoyed. "They're the same vampires I see all the time above ground. What's the difference? Honestly, I think you'd wrap me in bubble wrap and carry me around like a baby if I let you get away with it."

"You have no sense of self-preservation." He's giving me a curious look, and I can tell both vampires are trying to read my intentions.

Aro's fingers twitch, like he wants to touch one of us, both of us. This doesn't go unnoticed by Edward, and I start to worry as his jaw tightens even more.

"Be reasonable, Edward," I sigh dramatically, reminding him of one of Alice's arguments by using her exact words. "If Aro really wants to hurt me, we both know he can, whenever he wants to. Besides, Caius hates you. Wouldn't you like to see him lose a bet?"

Edward glares at me, and I can tell that he's seriously pissed off, but come on, _five years_? On top of that he's going to have to let this happen eventually, so why not just get it over with?

Still, I can just hear Renee in my head talking about the fragile male ego and how what I just said to Edward was pretty much like a knee to the groin, so I walk over to the piano bench, put my arms around his neck and look right into his freaky, intense, totally pissed-off eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded," I whisper, as though we were speaking privately. "I know you just want to protect me, but please, Edward, try to relax? Have a little faith, for me? Please?"

His piercing stare gives way to a flash of vulnerability, and I see him begin to waver in his decision.

"I'll be fine," I murmur against his lips. "It's okay. Just trust, for once, okay?"

His hands grip my side, and he kisses me gently before walking over to Aro.

"If you'd like me to help you make a point, I'd prefer to do it on my own terms," he says tersely, close enough to Aro that the difference in height between them is more apparent than usual. "Don't mistake my good manners for a lack of spine. I'm not as giving as Carlisle, and I won't be treated like an errand boy."

"_Non serviam*_, is it? How intriguing an attitude for the only begotten son of the good Doctor Cullen." Aro's eyebrows lift slightly in what appears to be good-natured amusement. "You might be surprised, my boy, but I can admire that. What terms do you propose?"

Edward doesn't flinch, at all. Neither does Aro. They stare at each other until Edward starts talking again.

"I know exactly where Caius is, and what he is doing. It so happens there is a painting I'd like to procure as a gift for my mother, and I will ask Caius to help me obtain it. It will take me less than two minutes to return to this room. I trust that will be sufficient to win your bet?"

It really looks like Edward is making this up on the spot. I'm impressed, because I know better, and Aro looks almost giddy.

"Yes, of course, you can tell Caius I would consider it a favor to me if he'd help you," Aro says eagerly, moving to replace Edward at the piano. "Of course, he'll just get Afton to do the actual work, but it won't happen otherwise. And, just to ease your troubled mind, I'll play the piano the whole time you're gone, so you'll know where my hands are, and where they aren't. In two minutes we won't even be able to get all the way through this new aria, but we'll give it a shot, won't we, Isabella?"

Edward glances at me once last time before leaving the room, and I cringe to see the hurt in his eyes. I feel horrible, even though I can't regret his leaving. This is for us, after all. It's too much to say in a glance, so I just put my hand over my heart and hope he understands.

I blink, and he's gone, but the music has already started, so I turn to focus. It's a new aria, and as is his habit, Aro stops me often, no detail too small to be corrected.

"Let's discuss this phrase, _Achevons la metamorphose_," he says, still playing, the keys tinkling like a music box. "What does that mean in English?"

"_We will achieve the metamorphosis_?" I ask, translating in my head.

"More like, _let us complete the metamorphosis_," he says with a slightly feral smile.

And now I'm glad that he's still playing, because the hair on the back of my neck rises, and I know we're not talking about music anymore.

"Right, that makes sense in context," I say nervously.

"I like the French language," he says, adding the melody line to the chords underneath. "It has so much personality. Interesting the path of words from one language to another. Latin to French, French to English. I find these paths have meaning, don't you?"

I nod, wondering where he's going with this. His words seem so neutral, but there's some change in him that reminds me on some visceral level that I am alone with a predator.

"For example, the French word for hope. _L'espoir_," he clarifies, and I relax fractionally, recognizing this as his lecture mode. "Close, but not directly related to the latin words for breathing. Vampires have no use for either. It isn't really our thing, you know. We see, we desire, we take. Usually, hope doesn't even factor into it. It's easy. In spite of all that, I find myself with a few private hopes. That's a secret, Bella. Can I trust you to be silent about my secret?"

I nod.

"Good. Then take the opposite. Disappointment. What is the French word for that, Isabella?"

"_Déception_," I say, my voice barely audible.

"Yes, _la __déception_. Interesting path from French to English, don't you think? What do you think that means?"

"I don't know what it means, exactly, but my French teacher in high school told us to remember it by thinking that deceiving yourself will lead to disappointment."

"Deceiving oneself, or being deceived by others."

I scowl at my music, his words ringing in my ears. What the hell am I supposed to say now?

"Very few people are capable of deceiving me, so I have very few hopes, Isabella," he says, smooth as a snake gliding through high grass. "And since very few people are capable of deceiving me, I must warn you, I'm not used to disappointment. I don't handle it very well. Not well at all, in fact."

He sounds like he speaks from experience. I look up from my music and see him watching me closely, the threat naked in his eyes. In reality, there are many things I could say, like, _maybe if you weren't such a control freak, I wouldn't need to lie to you, now would I? _

"You can deceive me, Isabella. Are you deceiving me?" He sounds so patient, so helpful.

But of course, I know him better than that. And I know we are in fact deceiving him. If he even suspected just how much, I highly doubt he'd be playing the piano right now.

"There's a difference between lying and privacy, Aro."

"What a lawyerly answer," he laughs delightedly. "Very nice. And how suited to your frank personality as well as your gift. I like you, Isabella. You would have made an excellent Roman, do you know that?"

I just smile. This is a huge compliment coming from him, and I know it. I'd like to think that it means he's turning into friendly Aro again. I want to encourage friendly Aro. He's okay. Fascinating and amusing, great taste in music. I really fucking hate scary Aro, though. It would be much easier if they didn't live in the same body.

"Do you want to stay here, after our arrangement is over?" he asks, almost sweetly. "Would you like to be in my guard? Because I can assure you, after what you did tonight, I think you can talk Edward into almost anything."

Alice and I have never talked about this conversation. I don't know whether he's improvising or if my natural instincts are the right way to go, but he definitely expects an answer.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," I say carefully.

"Try the truth." And scary Aro is back.

I don't know where Edward is, but I'm sure he can hear this, and he might be freaking out. Aro's still playing the piano, which is something, at least.

"I don't _want_ to lie to you, but I honestly don't know if the truth will disappoint you or not," I confess. I take a big breath, and continue. "I told you I would keep an open mind. We both promised, and so far we've kept that promise."

"So far," he says, and switches over to the Bach piece Edward played earlier.

It doesn't sound right the way he plays it. It's not balanced, perhaps? I can't put my finger on why, though. It's not the same problem Demetri had with the guitar. Aro plays with plenty of passion, it's just maybe the wrong kind? Bach's clean notes, however mysterious, clash with the inherently sinister beauty of Aro's style.

"Yes. So, in keeping with that promise," I say, filled with last-minute inspiration, "I haven't made a decision yet. Plus, I don't even have all the information I need to make it."

"Information?" He pauses for the briefest of moments, obviously intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"As everyone keeps pointing out to me," I point out, thinking of Demetri's rooftop taunting. "I'm just a human. I don't have your intelligence, your instincts, so can't even begin to appreciate what it is to be like you. How can I make a decision like this without knowing what it's like to be a vampire?"

"You seem to be fairly decisive about Edward," he counters, though I feel I've hit on a nerve. "Although, you haven't married him in human terms. Why is that, I wonder?"

"You yourself saw in Marcus' mind," I argue, annoyed that he's brought up this sore point for Edward, most certainly within his range of hearing. "We are well and truly mated, as you said. Besides, it's completely different for people my age, with most marriages ending in divorce these days. I can't imagine being more tied to Edward than I already am—we belong together, period. Being with him is no more of a decision than breathing, and I know he feels the same way."

Although technically, Edward doesn't really need to breathe. I'd like to think it's more of a flaw in my metaphor than in my understanding of our relationship. But I do know that he'd prefer to be married, and Aro knows it too, damn him.

"How romantic," he says with an indulgent, if slightly condescending smile. "So you really feel there is a decision to be made after all? Maybe it would help if I understood your thought process. What's the pro, what makes you want to stay?"

"I like it here," I say simply, "for the most part. Italy is beautiful, I love the sun. You've been more than generous. I love the music and the library especially."

"What makes you hesitate?" he asks, his milky eyes fairly glowing with greed.

"You've been incredibly helpful, but some of this is really intimidating. And I don't see it, but I know that people die because of your diet," I admit, and it's difficult for me to actually say the words aloud. "I know you haven't been a human in thousands of years, but imagine yourself in my position. It wouldn't be normal for me to just accept the slaughter of my kind as a matter of fact. I mean, I am still human, after all. I don't really belong to the human world, nor to the vampires yet. If it weren't for you and Edward, nobody would talk to me at all."

His eyes narrow, and he looks me over, as if truly assessing me for the first time.

"Well, perhaps you're right," he says in a wondering tone. "Perhaps some decisions should be made after you turn vampire after all."

I try not to let any emotion show on my face. Would he really let me change before getting a promise from us to stay on his guard? The sounds of Bach coming from his hands seem wicked, excited, and almost manic. It's almost as if the music has become some grotesque parody of the real thing.

"I have a theory about you," he confides. "I think you will find, Bella, that after you wake up, you will be as thirsty as you are enlightened. You will find that drinking human blood is natural for us as it is for you to eat the meat of animals. You will find that there is no god, no superstitions. There are no ideals. There is only the law."

His expression takes on the same sinister air as the music, which gets increasingly louder.

"And Isabella," he adds, leaning closer, whispering so that I can barely hear him above the sound of the piano. "In our world, you will find that the Volturi _are_ the law, and we will have our way."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: ***_**Non Serviam:**_** "****I will not serve****"****- attributed to Lucifer preceding his fall from Heaven. **

**Due to popular demand, I've nearly finished writing a short outtake on exactly what Jasper did to deserve his "time-out", so look out for that one soon****. If I owe you an outtake, please feel free to remind me. I think there's one FGB chapter due, but the buyer has yet to decide, if I recall correctly. And I think I casually agreed to another outtake on twitter, but I can't remember what it was or who it was for, and twitter won't let me see back that far. My memory fails, but I'll do it whatever it was, if someone reminds me.**

**And a lot of you had some really great interpretations of Bella's dream. Check out the reviews for last chapter if you're interested. And, as I said in the disclaimer, Bella is not, I repeat, not pregnant. That was a coincidental red herring, not intentional. So sorry.**


	29. Resistenza

**Ch 29 **_**Resistenza**_

**Thanks to the amazing beta work of NelsonSmandela, to Algie and Feisty for help with music, to Camilla10 for consultation on all things Italian, and to a semi-secret trio of secretkeepers, each of whom have been given a small part of the #canzonecode. **

**Chapter Music**

**"O Bella Ciao"**

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=Dr82JEKs9NM**

**Mozart -** "**Vedrai, Carino" from **_**Don Giovanni**_** performed by Linet Saul **

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=LmYErgrfnYs**

**Per Feisty's request, I am also providing some Mirella Freni as well:**

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=Y69PfsIXLdM **

**Mozart - "Batti, batti" from **_**Don Giovanni**_** performed by Joan Rodgers **

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=ioyTpq7eAfw**

**Nina Simone - **_**My Baby Just Cares for Me **_

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=eYSbUOoq4Vg**

**Disclaimer: Did you read the outtake? It's all I own! Or something. It's late, and I'm tired.**

**~oЖo~**

Whenever I go downstairs, I always hide my Volturi necklace when I get one floor down, just in case Signora Alberti is on the landing, sweeping up invisible dust particles or fussing over the little ivy plant she has just outside her door. She's almost always there, unless she isn't feeling well. I think she just craves a little human interaction. Who doesn't, even if it is only a few seconds on the stairwell?

I know I do.

She's incredibly nearsighted, even with her glasses, nearly completely deaf without her hearing aid, and I'm guessing that she's about eighty years old. She's not feeble though, and she makes me laugh. As soon as she heard Edward call me _Bella_ she got this massive crush on Edward, and I think she's sort of living vicariously through her small, fuzzy glimpses into our lives. She's always telling me how lucky I am to have him.

_"Sei fortunata ad avere un marito così romantico e così bello," _she says coyly, whenever she notices a flower delivery.

_"Sì, è vero," _I always agree. _Yes, lady, I am very lucky to have Edward. _

As I lock up the apartment and button up my coat, her music spirals upstairs—an old record of a group of men singing the song she often sings to me as a greeting—"O Bella Ciao." I've never heard anyone but her sing it, and it almost makes me feel like I'm hearing the ghost of her past. There's something inherently nostalgic about the the telltale crackling of a needle on vinyl, and the twinkle in her eyes seems to belong more to a young girl than an old woman, spry though she is.

_"O bella ciao, bella ciao bella, ciao ciao ciao!" _she sings along with the record, waving at me as she dances with her broom. _"Salve, Isabella!"_

_"Salve, Signora Alberti," _I reply in the old-fashioned greeting, kissing her cheek. She's in high spirits, and I tell her so, asking her about the music.

She starts speaking very rapidly, too fast for me to understand everything she says, but I think the gist of it is that when she was a little girl, it was a famous song of _La Resistenza, _the Italian resistance during World War II. There's something about her father, and how the music kept them in good spirits when they were fighting_ i diavoli fascisti, _the fascist devils. The words of the verses, words she never sings until now, talk about what to do with the body when the singer dies, but the tune is spirited, unafraid. When I remark on this, she looks incredibly proud.

That is the point, she tells me. The side that won the war was not the side that feared death. The secret to the aggressor is deep, dark fear, she tells me. Underneath their unspeakable cruelty lies incredible cowardice. They make the mistake of thinking peaceful people won't fight back, and they grab and grab until they see what happens when sleeping heroes are provoked. She sounds poetic and kind of glorious when she tells me all this.

At least I think that's what she says. If she said something else I think I like this better, because it buoys my spirits considerably, thinking for the first time that Aro might actually be afraid of anything. My first instinct says it can't be true, but maybe she has a point.

_"Ciao, Bella!"_ she calls after me, dancing with the broom as if she were ten years old again and her life stretched out in front of her, instead of the opposite.

_"Arrivederci," _I say, waving to her as I make my way down the staircase.

The music fades away, trailing after her like some kind of fairy dust. And in truth, I feel as though I've been lifted up somehow, just by the sights and sounds of a lady dancing who might more easily hole up in her apartment and be depressed.

What could Aro possibly fear? If what Eleazar says is true, he's always worried about talented people leaving him. I know he's using Chelsea to bind Marcus and others to Volterra, and Eleazar was himself quite afraid to leave when he wanted to. Then there are the nightmares that Alice sees when she sees us trying to extract ourselves from his influence, no matter how peacefully we make up our minds to leave. They don't tell me, and I know that Edward especially tries to hide it from me, but I'm not stupid.

An animal knows when it's being hunted. Even if it is just for capture.

**~oЖo~**

"I can't believe this is the role he wants me to learn," I murmur, writing a few English translations on my _Don Giovanni_ score. "I thought for sure he'd go with an Italian composer. Maybe he just wants to complain about Mozart in the next lesson?"

Edward snorts as he plays a piano version of one of Zerlina's arias flawlessly from memory. I look up, because, snorting? Not so Edward. He looks angry, which is far more like him.

"What?"

"What, What?" he repeats, testily.

"You snorted." I just lay it out there. "What do you know about me singing Zerlina's arias?"

For a second he looks like he's going to deny it, but I think he really wants to complain, deep down.

"He's always trying to provoke me," he scowls.

"With Mozart?" I ask. "I'm lost."

"See, it's Zerlina; she's a new bride and loves Masetto, but the moment bad boy steps in with his seductive ways, she gets distracted," he says. "Aro's always thinking about how nice girls can't resist the Don Juan types. Or in this case, the Don Giovanni type. And he gets jealous and does something stupid, and then Zerlina gets him to calm down."

"Yeah, with her boobs," I laugh. "Mozart made that pretty clear. But Edward, I don't see what that has to do with us."

Edward doesn't think it's so funny. He looks angry again.

"Oh, you don't?" he challenges, eyebrows raised. "It seems pretty clear to me."

"No, I don't. It would be more fitting," I argue, my face getting hot with embarrassment, "if I was learning Michaëla's part in _Carmen, _where the nice-but-boring girl next door chases after her sweet fiancé, but she just looks like chopped liver compared to Chelsea, so who can blame him? Carmen, I mean. She's just ... really pretty, and clearly knows what she's doing around men."

This is when it would be really great if he told me that _I'm_ really pretty, but he stares at me in irritated surprise.

"I told you that Chelsea is vile, Bella," he says incredulously. "If anyone is chopped liver it's her. Who put that thought into your head?"

Demetri.

"It's just kind of obvious," I say instead to avoid an even weirder fight. "Now, what are you talking about? How could Aro be poking you? Is it about Aro and his constant game of Let's Make a Deal? Because, if so—"

_Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz._

Right after my phone vibrates with a text alert, Edward's does too.

_**GUYS, GET ON, LIKE NOW.**_

"Alice is going a little extra crazy with the bat signal," I say, frowning at my phone as Edward sort of blurs around the room setting up the laptop.

When he moves at vamp speed I don't know whether to get dizzy or die of jealousy. When I'm not around, do they all move that quickly all the time? Wouldn't they run into each other? I wonder if I'll still be clumsy when I turn. I bet it hurts if those rock-hard bodies bonk each other. I wonder if it's loud. If vampire A is moving at 80 miles per hour and hits vampire B going the opposite direction at the same rate of speed...

"Bella, what are you thinking?" Edward asks suspiciously, looking up from the computer.

"I, ah ... um ... hey, is that them?" I deflect, scooting around to sit beside Edward on the couch, but he doesn't stop staring at me.

"Hi guys!" Alice waves at us cheerfully, looking a little sheepish.

She's got her computer set up in some sort of living area, and we can see Jasper and Rose playing chess just behind her while Emmett watches the game closely.

"What is it, Alice?" Edward asks, a little rudely.

"Well, I have something that's going to make you very happy," she says in the "sweet dominatrix" voice I know only too well. "But if you're going to be an ass about it you can go back to ruining your day instead, okay?"

I swear the three vampires in the background are trying not to laugh.

"Stop it, Jasper," Rose complains, giggling. "I'm pissed off."

At this, all four start laughing hysterically, until Alice shoots Jasper a dirty look.

"Jasper's doing that?" I ask, fascinated. "What else can he do?"

"Oh man, Jasper's the best! Especially now that he's starting to control it," Emmett says excitedly as Rosalie looks at him, aghast. "At first he was just making us all either really thirsty or really really hor—, _ow_, sorry Rose, I mean _romantic._"

Alice rolls her eyes a split second before Jasper and Emmett high five each other.

"What can I say, I'm a romantic guy," Jasper deadpans, scowling at the board. "I vote to let Edward ruin his day."

Rose narrows her eyes, and moves a tall piece. "Check."

"Sorry, Alice," Edward says, his tone perfunctorily contrite. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"I accept your apology," Alice says sweetly. "A couple of things have come up, and I'd rather tell you about them and audition your decisions, because they're both kind of 'out there.' All I ask is that Edward, you just give Bella a chance to respond, okay?"

...and this just shoves that stick a little further up his ass. I swear, every time I think he can't get any more tense, there's always one more level.

"So, Bella, I think Demetri might give up some good information, if you were willing to encourage him a little bit."

"Encourage?" I ask, fighting off a wave of nausea at the thought. "Alice, I don't really think I want to do that."

Ice-cold dread sweeps over me like a fog in winter. Surely she knows I would never agree to anything of the sort? It's unthinkable.

"Well, you wouldn't have to sleep with him, of course," she says dismissively, "just maybe a kiss or something."

She doesn't get all the words out before my stomach lurches and I grab the first container within reach. It happens to already contain a poinsettia plant, but when you've got to puke, you take what you can get. It's weird—I expect Edward to yell at Alice or something, but he just holds my hair for me like a total sweetheart.

"Sorry," I groan, horrified that he seems to want to help me clean up. "No, let me take care of this, please. Ugh, I'm so gross."

"Don't be silly," Edward grins, all of his previous anger gone. "You obviously can't help it."

I swear, I will never understand his moods.

I get up and take the plant to the sink, rinsing my mouth out while I'm at it. When I get back, Edward's just chatting with Alice, the corners of his mouth still curling a little. I sit down gingerly beside him, wondering why everyone's acting so weird.

"Alice, what the fuck?" I complain bitterly, ignoring Edward for the moment. "Didn't you see that was going to happen?"

"Sorry, Bella," she says with a wry smile. "This was the only way to make Edward really believe the truth about how you see Demetri."

"What are you talking about?" I complain. "Edward knows I can't stand Demetri. Neither one of us can. I mean, the guy _did_ try to kill me, for crying out loud. And just to be absolutely clear about this, my answer was 'hell no,' Alice. There's no way I'm encouraging that sleaze-ball."

"I'd never really ask it of you, sweetie. It's just not in you to fake something like that."

"See, Edward?" Jasper says. "What did I tell you?"

Edward doesn't say anything; he just reaches his arm around me and gathers me closer to him in a strangely sweet and possessive gesture, like a kid with his favorite blanket.

"Maybe I should yak on Demetri too," I mutter, feeling oddly comforted, "if it's so convincing."

"You said there were a couple of things, Alice?" Edward prods, rubbing my back lightly.

"They're connected in a way," Alice continues. "Aro's encouraging Demetri, and others, to try to test your bond for weaknesses. He wants you doubting each other."

I rest my head on Edward's shoulder as she talks, suddenly just kind of tired. I wonder if what she's saying applies to what Demetri told me about Chelsea, too. I want to ask, but I'm too chicken. As long as his arms are around me, I'm not going to question it. Aloud, anyway. In a way, I feel like an idiot for letting Demetri's gossiping get to me, but I wonder how many women could deal with multiple gorgeous female vampires openly trying to seduce their men. Anyone would be insecure.

And now I know that Edward's been dealing with the same thing. It makes me sad to think that he would feel anything but confident in my feelings for him, but I get it, too. He's never had to trust anyone's word since he became a vampire, since their thoughts were simply as readable to him as any newspaper. Now he's around vampires who are able to control and conceal some of their thoughts, some who are obviously manipulating us both, and all he can do is ask and trust me when I tell him everything's okay, when clearly we're both on edge a good deal of the time. I just have to wonder, how much more of this are we going to have to take?

All I want is to be somewhere safe, free from sneaking around, with no supermodels who make me feel inadequate, no Demetri skulking around on the rooftops, and definitely no Aro to scare the bejesus out of me every time I start to enjoy his company. I wonder how much it would take to convince Edward to run away with me, to just hide somewhere. Maybe we can find an island somewhere that nobody knows about. The idea is so tempting I can practically feel warm sand under my toes. I know Edward would go for it if I beg hard enough.

"Bella, can you please focus?" Alice asks, her expression far more compassionate than her words. "If that was really an option, you'd never have set foot in Volterra at all."

"I know; I just want it to be over sometimes. It just feels like a house of mirrors."

"You guys are doing so well, Bella. That's one thing I wanted to talk to you about," she says, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. "Marcus, for some reason, seems to be offended that Aro would try to tamper with your relationship."

"If he is it's because we remind him of his marriage," Edward says. "The comparison is always in his mind when he sees us together. It's the only thing that could make him feel anything, I assure you."

"He's going to try to talk to you guys, but he's having a hard time deciding how and where," she continues. "I think it would be much better if he talked to you you alone, Bella, and at a time when nobody's around. It'll be safe, Edward, I swear. He won't hurt her. Can we try out a scenario?"

"Only if it's completely safe," Edward warns. "Can they meet in public?"

Charlie would so approve. I feel like buying them matching sweaters, in reflective orange.

"I could meet him in the library," I offer, deciding to do it. "He's always there. I could skip my classes tomorrow and go early."

Alice looks up for a second, and smiles widely.

**~oЖo~**

The next morning, Edward is already gone, but there's a note in Edward's handwriting resting on my iPod, propped up on the pillow beside me with a tiny sprig of white and yellow flowers. The sight of a little hand-picked cluster of tiny budding flowers means more to me than all of Aro's expensive arrangements, just because they're from Edward, and because I know when I read the note and look up the meaning, I'm not going to shiver in fear, with my stomach dropping like a bag of ice to my feet.

_Bella,_

_The lemon trees are just starting to bloom, and last night was just warm enough that most people left their trees outside. The fragrance in the night air was utterly intoxicating, and it made me think of you. Just now I kissed your pink cheek, and the way you smiled when I did it made everything wrong in the world right again. Just like Nina Simone._

_Wear something warm, and be safe. I'll be near the library all morning, just in case you need me._

_Love always,_

_Edward_

I putter around, getting ready for the morning as if I were really going to school, and on an impulse I decide to take the note with me to the library. I tuck my necklace under my sweater and put the lemon blossoms in my jacket buttonhole, like Grandma Swan used to do whenever I picked wildflowers for her.

_"Il Signor Alberti mi dava dei fiori solo quando aveva qualcosa da farsi perdonare, ma un rametto di fiori di limone è un dono meraviglioso," _Signora Alberti confides as I kiss her cheek in greeting.

The late Mr. Alberti used to use flowers as an apology, apparently, but she approves of my little _boutonnière_. And I have to agree on both counts. Flowers picked impulsively because they remind Edward of me are, in fact, a wonderful gift. Expensive flowers say lots of things, but usually they're about pursuit, guilt, or obligation. We may not have given Aro a commitment, but I'm fairly sure that the constant barrage of expensive flowers usually mean all three.

I slip my earbuds in and check the latest additions to my iPod. Sure enough, there's some new Nina, a bouncy tune that sounds vaguely familiar and somehow makes everything feel fine. It's a good beat—easy for me to walk to—and the words, I hope, are for me as much as for him.

I don't have to take a detour to slip into one of the library entrances. The upper public floors have a few humans roaming around, but when I get to the restricted area at the bottom of a marbled spiral staircase, the only vampire in sight is Marcus, sitting in his usual spot. He sniffs and looks up when I approach.

"Isabella," he says, looking like a slightly startled mental patient, "I was just thinking about you yesterday, and here you are."

It looks and sounds like he's not used to speaking—like every word costs him something.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," I say, looking at the pile of scrolls and letters next to him. "You seem pretty busy."

"Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can almost pretend she's right here with me," he says, as much to himself as to me. "Can you imagine, I used to think it was silly of Didyme to write me letters when we were hardly ever apart for more than a few hours. Now they're all I have left of her."

"I love getting notes from Edward," I say softly, coming a little closer. "He just left one for me this morning."

"He did? What sort of things does he write to you?" he asks, a mild curiosity blending in with his usual pained boredom.

I hand him the note, and he smiles minutely, scanning it over. He doesn't say anything as he hands it back, but extracts a well-worn letter from his pocket and starts to read it. I wonder if I'm supposed to wait, or say something. I wonder if he remembers that I'm here at all.

"Didyme? Is that your wife's name?" I ask encouragingly.

"You said _is, _and not _was,_" he whispers, still staring at the paper. "Why is that?"

"You obviously still love her," I say, thinking of Charlie and his utter inability to move on from Renee. "And she didn't mean to leave you. Therefore, she's still your wife, whether or not you can see her."

If a vampire could cry, I think he would. He doesn't move, exactly, but it feels like something _inside _him does. When he looks at me again, he's all there, maybe for the first time. It seems to take him a lot of effort.

"I knew you'd understand," he nods gratefully. "I knew it. They all say I should move on, but that makes no sense."

"That's ridiculous. I would never move on if something happened to Edward. I'm serious—I think I'd be a basketcase."

"I know. I can see that about you," he says, leaning forward to peer deeply into my eyes. "I think you'd both be lost without the other."

"Some things are obvious. I mean, just look at this—" I say, gesturing at the letters in the chair. "Edward told me these are all love letters from your wife. Is that true?"

"Yes, all of them. Words she wrote when she wanted to be with me. Some she wrote when I was reading or talking to someone else, and she didn't need my attention, but wanted to give me hers. She was like that," he says, and a soft light comes into his eyes when he says this. "Would you like to read them? I mean, while you're here, not to take any with you."

He seems a little panicked at the thought that I would take any of his letters from her.

"I'd love to. May I sit with you?" I ask, only because Alice said he'd be more willing to talk if I sat in her place. "You can tell me about her if you want, but I don't know if that's too painful?"

"I want to talk about her," he insists, moving enough of her letters aside so that I can sit down. "Nobody wants to listen."

He seems so sad, that I just want to hug him, but you can't comfortably hug a human-drinking vampire, so I compromise, and touch his arm gently.

"I'll listen."

"Our story is very long, Isabella," he says wonderingly, almost as if he himself were hearing it for the first time. "We knew each other when we were human, you see. She was Aro's sister, and even though I don't remember those days very well, I think I was always in love with her. I've loved her for over three thousand years."

Holy fucking shit. I knew they were there during the Roman Empire, but this is far longer than I expected.

"That's like, before the Romans!" I whisper loudly. "You were what, Etruscans?"

"Older than that: we were made by the firsts," he scoffs with pride. "All of this, our underground castle, it's the original Volterrae, you know. These were stone buildings in what historians call Neolithic age. Not that we called it that; we didn't really call it anything until writing came along. We were born here, all three of us, and changed here, too."

"What was she like?" I ask, picking up one of her later letters. Lovely, elegant handwriting. "I bet she was beautiful. You all are, really."

"She was lovely," he says dreamily, "with long, curling dark hair and the sweetest smile I've ever seen. She was kind, and quite funny, too. She always made everyone so happy. She could even make Caius laugh."

"No way!" I seriously can't imagine Caius laughing at anything. Unless it involved the torture of kittens or something equally horrifying.

"It's true. Everyone loved her so much," he says, his caress of an envelope over the words she wrote sounding like two pieces of paper brushing against each other. "That's why it's so hard to understand what happened to her. Who could possibly want her gone?"

"She sounds amazing. If she was Aro's sister, why won't he talk about her with you?"

"He says it's too painful. It upsets him too much." He looks rather upset himself. "He was the one who changed her, after all. I was too weak to try it myself. Afraid of killing her, you know. I'm sure Edward would understand that. And he was the one who found what was left of her—her ashes. He said he'd never speak of her again, and he hasn't. He can't stand it when others speak of her either."

"He loved her that much?" I ask, my curiosity roused.

What would Aro be like with a sister? A loving sister?

"Oh yes! It was impossible not to love her. And she loved him too, intensely. They didn't always get along, though. She wasn't afraid to criticize him privately about his way of enforcing the law. They would get into disagreements from time to time, but they were family. Actually, they only had one true disagreement, but it built up over time. They were at an impasse when it came to the suffering of others. Aro called it a love of justice and stability, and accused her of being too soft to understand what it takes to govern. She didn't like hurting humans, either. She used to starve herself until we'd beg her to drink, and then she'd only drink from the very old, who were ready to go. She'd give them a moment of true happiness, before giving them death."

I'm not really sure what to say about that, and we're both quiet until I think of something vaguely appropriate.

"I think Carlisle's like that too," I offer, rather obviously, just to get him talking again.

"I know he is. He and Aro were great friends as you doubtless know. In a way, for Aro it was like having Didyme all over again. He is as kind as she was, maybe even more so because of his diet, but he is more gentle than joyful. She was pure happiness. Although in the end, just like Carlisle, she couldn't stand to watch Aro hurt anyone else. She wanted to leave too."

"She wanted to leave?" I repeat, surprised. "But what about you?"

"Oh, I was certainly going to leave with her," he says in his ghostly, hollow voice. "As if I could do anything else. I would go wherever she went. I wanted to follow her in death, but I have duties, after all."

I can just see it—Aro's beloved sister and his best friend, just about to abandon him forever. A dark suspicion takes root in my mind, one that has to do with why we can't just leave in peace, and the shadows in Alice's eyes when she tells Edward what he can and cannot do.

"What did Aro say about that?" I ask carefully.

"Aro never found out that we were going to leave," he says vacantly. "We were going to tell him together, right before we left. But then he found her burning already—just a hand left by the time he got there, and some of her hair. He was _devastated. _Utterly and completely. He went mad with it."

"So you didn't tell him?"

"He grieved so much I didn't have the heart to tell him that we were going. There wasn't any point to it, anyway. I'm sure he saw it the next time he touched me. But he never held it against me. Not that I would blame him. I once begged him to kill me, but he said that it would be too much for him to lose me as well."

I shiver at the way his eyes light up when he mentions suicide, but I get it, too.

"That's so sad," I sympathize, my mind racing. "Who did that to her?"

"Aro said the Romanians were probably behind it, for revenge. He was absolutely livid in his grief, and he took it out on them once again. Anyone they had recruited, he either stole or destroyed. All of their possessions looted or burned. He punished them in a blind rage, taking everything they had managed to build up since the last time we beat them. That's when Chelsea joined us. She used to live with them. But Caius ... Caius thinks it was werewolves."

"And you? What do you think?" I ask, wondering how I could have ever thought Marcus seemed bored. Clearly, he's just masking intense pain.

"I just don't understand it," he murmurs absently. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"You poor thing," I say, feeling a surprising amount of empathy for someone who drinks human blood. "How do you keep going?"

"Sometimes I can disappear in a good book," he says dreamily, picking up a dog-eared paperback from off the floor. I swear it has Fabio on the cover. "I don't usually read silly books like this, but sometimes it's nice to know that things will turn out happy in the end."

I smile in spite of myself.

"I know what you mean. I think I've read _Jane Eyre _a hundred times. When I do it's more about comfort than when I'm reading something new."

"Oh, you like to read, too?" he asks, the ghost of a smile in his eyes. "I didn't expect that. Most young people like the cinema, I'm told. What sort of books do you read?"

"All kinds, but I started with the classics," I begin.

"You mean like Euripides?" he interrupts, with a look that almost seems kind of excited. For him, anyway. "I also love the classics, my dear. His plays made me fall in love with stories, and books. The first volumes of my collection."

I don't correct him because I'm the idiot who thinks that the word "classics" is the correct choice to describe the Brontë sisters to a three-thousand-year-old vampire.

I just listen as he speaks of his wife so vividly I can practically see her and feel her next to me.

"She would have liked you and Edward very much," he says, his words coming out as if they were very difficult for him to let go of. "Like Aro, she loved music, but even more than that, she loved to see two young ones in love."

"I wish I could have met her. I could use a friend about now, and I can't really talk to humans about my worries."

"What are you worried about, my dear?" he asks, his sad eyes looking almost concerned.

"Well, lots, really. For one, I can't wait to be a vampire so that I'll be worthy of Edward," I confide. "I hope Aro lets me change soon. Sometimes I worry that he won't let me until I look far too old to be Edward's mate. He's so beautiful as it is—I don't know why he's with me at all when he could have someone like Heidi, or Rosalie, or..." I trail off uncomfortably. It's not like Chelsea is Voldemort or anything, but ever since Demetri singled her out as havingEdward as some sort of _goal_, I don't want to give her the least bit of power, even in my mind.

"Don't you know, he feels the same way about you?" he asks urgently, startling me with uncharacteristic intensity. "He's already a vampire, I don't mean that, but he doesn't feel _worthy_ of you. I don't know why, but it's true. I confess that I feel a bit guilty about letting Aro see the nature of your bond. I could see both the unwavering devotion you have for each other and the insecurity as well. I don't know why he insists on playing with your feelings. For what it's worth, I have made my objections known. Please do not doubt Edward's love for you."

He seems so insistent that his words warm and strengthen me. Still, a little voice in my head raises the old objection.

"I know he loves me, but I don't even see how it's possible," I confess, shrugging helplessly. "I mean, that would be like me falling in love with a squirrel, wouldn't it? How can he be with someone like me? He's so brilliant—his mind, it's as beautiful as his face, and his music! He's perfect, and I'm just … clumsy, forgetful, slow, and human."

"You should see you two the way I see you." He looks more alive than I've seen him so far, his red-rimmed eyes pleading. "You and Edward, you have what Didyme and I once had. Seeing the bond between you, it makes me feel that even though there is no hope for me, love still lives somewhere. When you are around, it's easier for me to remember her. For that I thank you."

"I am so sorry you lost your love," I whisper, a single tear streaking down my cheek.

He catches it, the thin dry skin of his finger rasping gently against my cheek. He stares in confusion at his shiny fingertip and brings it to his lips, whether to kiss or taste I do not know. He closes his eyes, and I recognize his expression from the moments when Edward holds his breath to control himself. A delicate shudder passes through my body, and the hair on the back of my neck rises. I sit very, very still, until he opens his eyes, looking not at me but off into the distance behind me.

"My dear, I'm afraid you're making me thirsty," he says, confirming my suspicion. "Perhaps you should be going along now. I'll see you this weekend, yes?"

"Yes, this weekend," I agree. "We're performing for Aro's winter party. We'll be there."

When I get up to go, I'm not surprised in the least to find Edward right behind me, looking tense. I step into his arms to remind us both that everything's okay.

As we re-enter into the human world, I realize I've dropped my lemon blossoms. In my mind's eye I can see them where they must have fallen among Didyme's love letters to Marcus.

"My flowers!" I say, wanting to rush back and reclaim them, but Edward holds me close, stopping me. "But _you_ gave them to me!"

"I'll get you some more tonight," he promises, kissing my cheek. "There are plenty of flowers in the world, but Marcus wasn't lying, and there's no replacing you."

**~oЖo~**

"You look amazing ... like a pale Greek goddess," Edward murmurs into my hair a few days later, his fingers tracing over the soft silk draping of my gown where it meets my skin. "I don't think I should have let you out of our apartment looking like this."

When he says things like that, with that possessive tone and look in his eyes, I don't want to leave the apartment at all.

"You'll just have to find some way to mark your territory then," I tease, but his eyes flash darkly and a thrill goes up my spine to see that he's taking this as a challenge.

I wish we could stay home, but this party is more or less another excuse for Aro to show us off and strengthen our ties to the Volturi. Nearly every vampire in Italy will be there, and—I discovered by accident and very much to Edward's displeasure—we are to arrive after "dinner" for music and socializing. I'm slightly annoyed by his trying to hide this little detail from me at first. As if I wouldn't know that they'd feed at some point. I'm not stupid. It is upsetting to be aware that it's actually happening, though, and I find myself unable to get into the column during our rehearsal before going as a result. I know it bothers Edward, too.

He holds a door for me and ends the fluid motion by draping his arm around my shoulders as we walk in, his body language clearly confident and territorial as we go in to meet everyone.

And they do stare at us as we make our entrance. The great hall is full of every vampire I've seen so far in Italy as well as some I've never seen before, all dressed beautifully. Their collective scent reminds me of walking someplace oddly fragrant, like a rain forest, or the ballet on opening night. It's a little intimidating to be in such a space with new vampires, so I snuggle into Edward's side a little.

"Are you sure Alice gave the all clear?" I ask, a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of them.

Edward stiffens, and I follow his gaze to see Demetri, flanked on both sides by Renata and Heidi. For the first time since ever, we're in the same place and he's not giving me that creepy stare. I don't know whom to thank for this, because I'm fairly certain that Demetri's actions are beyond the reach of divine influence.

"I don't believe it," Edward scowls, scanning the room.

"What?" I ask.

"He's trying to make you jealous."

"He is?" I ask incredulously. "But he's not even looking over here."

"See how he's paying attention to both Heidi and Renata and not looking at you at all?"

I glance over again and see Heidi smiling beatifically at him while plays with her hair. This would seem almost romantic if he didn't have his other hand on Renata's ass. I mean, I guess it could be romantic, if Heidi's okay with it, but the way Demetri acts and Renata smirks, I'm fairly sure she doesn't even know what's going on.

"Isn't it great?" I ask under my breath. "Although it's kind of hard to miss his big pimping over there. Do you think Heidi knows he's feeling up Renata right now?"

"She does now, thanks to you."

And crap. I've forgotten about vampire hearing, because Heidi pulls away from Demetri, who looks right at me with this frustrated, hurt sort of look. Yeah, not looking at him anymore tonight.

"Oh, come on," I whisper furiously, glaring into Edward's shirt. "Do not tell me that his _feelings_ are hurt now."

"Welcome to the world of the hyperinflated male ego," Edward says, a tinge of malice creeping into his tone. "Just imagine what he'd feel if he knew you vomited at the mere suggestion that you might be encouraging him. Oh no, where's he going now? We just got here."

His eyes gleam with satisfactioon as Demetri angrily skulks out of the hall, leaving behind two annoyed-looking females. For a moment Edward's face is almost unrecognizable until I recall not being able to picture him killing one hundred thirty-seven murderers and rapists. Now, I can picture it quite easily.

"Was it something I said?" he asks innocently. "Such a shame. What's a party without Demetri?"

"Way more enjoyable," I admit, wondering how I can do something similar to banish Chelsea, wherever she is. "But was that really necessary? Now Renata's glaring at me, and Heidi looks upset."

Heidi's never been anything but nice to me. If she didn't do what she does for the Volturi, I could even see us becoming friends.

"There you are," Aro says behind us. "I was hoping that you might be ready to sing one of the Zerlina arias tonight? I know you just got it last week, but I'm in the mood to hear 'Batti batti_._'"

"I'll take a stab at it," I say casually, though I'm less than pleased at having to show something I haven't really perfected. "Though I'd rather do something more solid."

To me, preparing an aria is kind of like making jello. You can rush all you want to memorize it, but there's a certain settling in to the body that simply takes as much time as it's going to take before it's ready, and my Zerlina jello is not quite done yet. Luckily, this aria had been assigned to one of the undergraduates in Dr. George's studio (and Dr. Adana's undergraduate opera lab) the previous semester, so while I am new to singing it, I already have it memorized, movements and all, so it will be passable. Part of me just wants to say no and do something else.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, my dear," Aro says breezily.

Speaking of creepy, I start to feel eyes on my back, and turn my head in time to witness the expression "if looks could kill" in the form of Jane. Fortunately, she's only trying to send me into an illusion of unspeakable pain with her mind, so it's a complete waste of her time.

"Jane, would you please stop?" Edward complains, looking distressed.

"I don't feel anything when she does that," I reassure him, "besides the sensation of being vaguely creeped out."

"Liar," she huffs, "you turned around. You obviously felt something."

"Only because you were staring at me like a freak."

"I can read your mind, _Jane,_" Edward glares at her. "I can totally tell when you're doing it."

"I can make you scream like a girl, _Edward,_" she says with a pretty smile. "And if you don't shut your mouth, I will."

"Ladies, ladies, please," Aro says, looking totally amused. I'm not sure, but he seems to be addressing Edward as well. "We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves, not rehashing old squabbles."

"Well, perhaps we can start a new fight, because Edward and Isabella made Demetri go away," Jane says spitefully, getting in one last dig as Renata and Heidi approach.

"That's no fun. I had plans for him. Why did he leave?" Aro asks. Renata touches his arm, and he looks toward the entryway with displeasure. "How annoying. Honestly, if anyone is a _primadonna_ in Volterra, it's him. Isabella, you should take note and follow his example."

"I should?" I ask, confused. "I thought you were 'astonished with my professionalism.' What happened to that?"

"Well, yes, but, my dear, you're so agreeable that it's frankly making you a little bland," he says, wincing a little, as if in apology. "I mean, I've put you in a remedial choir and changed your schedule five times without any complaints from you at all. Most sopranos would be screaming at me by now, but you, you just keep doing whatever it is I ask you to do. Didn't Emil teach you anything?"

I narrow my eyes at him, fairly livid. I mean, this is the same guy who told me to kiss my family goodbye before coming here, insinuating that either I break ties with them or he'll _kill them, _and now he wants me to pretend that he's indulgent of artistic temperaments? I think of about twenty things I'd like to say to him, but they all seem unwise, so I take a deep breath. Perversely, he looks intrigued as he watches me stew, but Edward taps my back twice, a sign for caution.

"Now that you mention it," I say evenly, "Dr. George did once tell me that the patron may request something that isn't ready, and that I have to protect the art first."

"Very true," he says, watching me closely.

"So_,_ I'll sing 'Vedrai, carino' tonight instead. 'Batti, batti' is technically memorized, but it's not art yet."

"Fine, whatever," he says dismissively before turning to Heidi. "Where did you find those tourists? I've had complaints about some of them. How many times do I have to tell you, Heidi, _no vegetarians_. Their flavor is always off."

He ignores Edward's sharp intake of breath and disapproving glare. I guess it's no accident that I never hear about this type of thing, because Edward seems fairly shocked at the discussion. I wonder if not eating meat would make my scent easier for Edward to handle.

"You asked for so many," she says defensively, "and it's not even tourist season!"

"This is why we plan ahead," he says waspishly. "If they don't come to Volterra then you make alternate plans."

"These guys seemed healthy enough, and they were really annoying the other tourists," Renata says in a possible attempt to placate Heidi. "I mean, they kept going on and on about why everyone should stop eating meat. They had a list of ninety-nine reasons! They kept talking about how it makes you calmer, more affectionate, more likely to be faithful to your spouse, if you can believe that."

"Oh, really?" murmurs a soft voice I don't recognize, but then I recognize Sulpicia, Aro's wife, as she steps into our little circle and lays her hand on her husband's arm. "I wonder if that goes for vampires as well. Aro, didn't you say that Carlisle's group is supposed to be rather famous for their constancy to their mates? Is that true, Edward?"

"There aren't enough humanitarians to make any meaningful statements one way or the other," Aro replies tersely. "Marcus has always had a reasonable diet, and he won't even think of touching another woman, even now."

"Yes, but Didyme didn't like killing people at all," Sulpicia points out, amused. "She'd starve for weeks, and then afterward she'd feel so bad about it she'd walk through town making everyone happy, just to make up for it."

"Do not remind me," Aro protests with his hands up. "Besides, those girls in Denali are quite famous for their exploits with human men. The original succubi. Quite scandalous in Russia, according to Demetri. I once thought about doing something about them, but they were excellent advocates for themselves. Such pretty girls!"

Sulpicia stiffens in annoyance, and I don't blame her. Edward was fairly gentlemanly about Tanya's advances in his journals, but his attitude toward them was clearly familial rather than romantic. I can only imagine how Aro let himself be persuaded by them.

"I do know of some unattached members of the Denali clan who enjoy casual relationships," Edward concedes, with an even, respectful tone to both Aro and Sulpicia, "and the sisters are quite friendly, but I know of no married members who have ever strayed from their marriage vows."

"Is that why you're so faithful to Bella?" Renata asks, with a pointedly catty glance at Chelsea. "I mean, you're the first vampire to turn down every single one of us."

I think I love Renata now, because from the looks on everyone's faces—especially Chelsea's—Demetri was way off base in his insinuations.

_No, no, she still bit Jasper, _I remind myself silently. Still, she's going up in my book, considerably.

"Yes, but before you found your _mate_," Chelsea presses, not even looking at me, "surely you must have enjoyed the company of your friends in Denali, right, Edward?"

"Definitely not. I am not friendly," Edward replies, smiling mischievously at me.

Everyone laughs, like he's making a joke, but I know otherwise. It's true; he's only polite so that he doesn't feel obligated to be friendly. The list of people to whom he shows affection is incredibly short, and I think it has to do with their unguarded thoughts. Carlisle, Alice, Esme, Emmett, Angela. And then there's me, for some reason.

"Then how did you two get together?" Renata asks, bewildered.

"It was inevitable, once we met," Edward says. "Though I did try to stay away for a while, since she's human."

"You were pretty convincing until Demetri tried to kill me," I say with a shudder.

"The old _damsel in distress _routine?" Chelsea asks knowingly. "I should have guessed. That almost always works."

Somewhat distracted by this idea of ripping Chelsea's head off and lighting it on fire, I catch Jane's eyes darting back and forth from Edward to me and back again. I tense a little, half expecting another attack.

She notices me noticing and smiles sweetly, never a good sign, coming from her.

"And as for the rest of that nonsense," Aro continues, as if uninterruped, "Edward has quite a temper. I've seen it myself, as have those of us who went to Seattle last year."

"Actually, it is easier to control my temper when I'm abstaining," Edward says with an almost angelic calm. "When I went through my rebellious phase, as you called it, I lost my temper quite frequently, but fortunately it was my goal to kill the people who angered me, so it worked out all right. When I came back to the family it took a while to calm down. I did notice a change after adhering to our rules again."

"Family?" Heidi asks curiously. "You don't call it a coven?"

Aro gives Edward a sour look.

"There are two covens I know of that abstain from human blood," he continues, undaunted. "We consider ourselves to be more like family than merely covens. Sometimes we live apart if we have some goal to pursue, as I did recently with music, but we are very fond of each other."

"That sounds lovely," Sulpicia says sweetly, to Aro's apparent disbelief. "I wonder, how hard is it to resist human blood? I've never tried."

"You agreed not to advocate your deviant lifestyle here," Aro hisses at Edward, leaning toward him.

"And you agreed to refrain from discussing yours in front of Isabella," Edward replies in a similarly clipped, hushed tone. "I believe you started this line of conversation, Aro. I'm just being polite and responding to the questions that come of it. What would you have me do, be rude and ignore your lovely wife when she asks me a question?"

"You did bring it up, darling," Sulpicia says in that tone only a spouse could get away with.

She caresses his arm, and I can only imagine the silent, one-way conversation going on that makes him relax and smile.

"Of course, you're right, dear. _Touché_, Edward," Aro concedes, in an appearance of benevolence. "The mistake was mine. It is completely natural to be curious about making such a strange choice. I felt similarly, when Carlisle lived here. We were always arguing about it from a philosophical viewpoint, so one day I took him up on his offer to go hunting with him. The chasing part was amusing, probably more so for a younger, less experienced vampire. Deer tend to be so much faster physically than humans, but not nearly as inventive. I always preferred a more _cerebral _pursuit back when I was younger and enjoyed the sport of it. The taste, however, I cannot imagine ever getting used to. Carlisle, I can almost understand. He doesn't know any better. The only human blood he ever tasted he spat out before he could even enjoy the flavor, much less experience the satisfaction. But you, Edward, you _know_ what it is to be truly satisfied. How can you do without it?"

I get the feeling I'm watching a masterful politician. Aro seems to be taking the temperature of the crowd, and it reminds me of something in one of Eleazar's books, about good leaders not fighting the will of the people, but bending their natural inclinations and curiosities to suit their own purposes. Fortunately, Edward has read all these books, too, and seems unfazed.

"Discipline, mostly," Edward replies conversationally. "And we often hunt a variety of animals. As you yourself pointed out, carnivores tend to taste much better than herbivores. By the way, Aro, if you ever wanted to try again, wild boar is quite close to human in taste, domestic pigs as well. Carlisle won't even drink it because he worries that it might make make him crave human blood. "

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "Edward, you never told me that before. Do you think if I were to become a vegetarian it would make it easier for you?"

"I don't know if it would apply to the singer situation," he says, gently taking one of my hands and completely encapsulating it with both of his. "But you love steak and ham and all that. I wouldn't ask it of you."

Heidi and Sulpicia smile at each other, to my embarrassment. This is my private Edward, and I'm not sure I want to share him.

"But it might—I know my scent makes you suffer, Edward," I whisper under my breath, although I know everyone can hear anyway. "I'll try it, and you can tell me if it helps."

"You'd do that for me?" he asks wonderingly, a little smile playing at his lips.

"I'd do anything for you," I say, my face heating. "You know that."

Some of the females sigh, in what sounds like silk scarves dropping to the floor. Aro appears to be somewhat horrified, if only for a moment.

"Why don't I stock the reserve with extra deer and whatever?" Aro offers, looking equal parts amused and determined. "You can all try some—then you can see for yourselves the joys of consuming blood that tastes like grass and dirt."

They laugh good-naturedly, but I sense a slight tension between Aro and Edward. It's the same odd stillness that rested between them when Aro wanted Edward to help him win the bet with Caius. I can't imagine that anything good can come of this, but as long as Aro keeps pushing us, and Alice keeps guiding us, we'll do what we have to do.

Through the graceful throng of vampires in catlike motion or statued stillness, I see Marcus on his throne, staring absently into the crowd. I try to catch his eye, but I get the feeling that whatever he's watching isn't in this room. Even though he's completely solid and real, I feel haunted, watching him stare at something beyond us all as he slowly twirls a sprig of wilting white flowers between his fingers.

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: **

**Italiano: **

_**"Sei fortunata ad avere un marito così romantico e così bello,": **_**You are very lucky to have such a romantic and handsome husband.**

_**"Salve!"**_** old Latin greeting, often used in small, old towns like Volterra.**

_**"Il Signor Alberti mi dava dei fiori solo quando aveva qualcosa da farsi perdonare, ma un rametto di fiori di limone è un dono meraviglioso,": **_**Mr. Alberti only gave me flowers when he had something to ask forgiveness for, but a little sprig of lemon blossoms is a wonderful gift.**** (lemon blossoms are a symbol of faithful love)**


	30. When Cornered

**Chapter 30 When Cornered**

**A/N: Thank you to NelsonSmandela for the masterbetastic services, to Algie and Feisty for the music and fine examples of rageball, and to Camilla10 for all things Italian. Special thanks to AdorableCullens for her expert opinion on Edwards Behaving Badly. **

**Chapter Music (via Youtube)**

**Renee Fleming sings "Das Wunder der Heliane" by Korngold**

**/watch?v=H2x5NgtGSx4**

**Martha Augerich plays Ravel's "Gaspard de la nuit pt. 1: Ondine"**

**/watch?v=ajGuvtwTy6M**

**Leonard Cohen: "A Thousand Kisses Deep"**

**/watch?v=P0j14GrB-u8**

**Disclaimer: I totally watched lots of Criminal Minds instead of only partially blowing at replying to reviews. Please know that every single one of your reviews is like sweet caffeinated crack to me, and that Smeyer still owns Twilight.**

**~oЖo~**

Ever since Aro decided to switch my teachers my "official" voice professor has been this nervous old tenor named Signor Bini. I say "official" because it's hard to see our sessions as anything more than a sort of guided practice. He might have a personality, but I think he's too afraid of the Volturi to show it to me in our so-called lessons, which lack the excitement of Professor George's voice lessons back home, unless you count Bini's nervous fumbling of papers and bug-eyed watchfulness as excitement. It just makes me feel guilty, but apparently nothing I say can make him relax in my presence, but the problem seems to be automatic with any human in Volterra, and he is clearly no exception.

My first voice teacher is still _alive_, at least. I shiver a bit at the ease with which that morbid thought slips from my mind, and try to focus again on the problem at hand. Otherwise, I'll start worrying about what Volterra is turning me into: someone who is boring to Aro and yet counts it as a major victory whenever other humans survive close contact with me.

Maybe Aro's right. Maybe I have been a little boring. Maybe I'm acting just like Signor Bini — so worried that I'll mess up that I just meekly do what's expected of me.

It may be unfair of Aro to create this atmosphere of intimidation and then complain when people aren't exciting enough, but the critique stings a bit. Still, I'm not sure what to do about it. I know I sure as hell don't _feel _bored. I feel like I'm walking around in the dark, terrified that any careless action on my part could get someone killed — painfully aware that half the town is afraid of me and the other half can and will kill me the moment that a very volatile man decides it would be more amusing than keeping me alive. And all the time, I'm not supposed to think about this, nor am I supposed to think of the tiny collection of sharp secrets hanging over our heads like multiple swords of Damocles.

Still, understandable as my caution is, the gauntlet has been thrown down: find a way to be vocally exciting without somehow irritating Aro with his many musical pet peeves. Choose the wrong aria and he'll go all rageball for forty-five minutes on why anyone who voluntarily sings this particular Handel should never appear anywhere but at "a mental institution or a prison for the criminally tasteless" (his dream project, I'm sure). Aro is so picky, his opinions so extreme, that without Alice's help I seriously doubt we would have lasted a week in Volterra, let alone four months.

I need to find a way to convince Signor Bini to help me get some color in my repertoire, some music I can do something with. I know I'm not ready to sing the Verdi that Aro and I both love, but surely there can be something transitional that I can really throw myself into, so that I don't think about death and blood all the time. When I get to the studio door, I can hear a young tenor (clearly not Signor Bini) caterwauling away. This is unusual: usually the door is open and he waits for me in all his ancient twitchiness, probably worried I'll give my scary patron a bad report if I have to wait. Like I'm some diva.

As the poor tenor inside keeps missing his aim on a high note, I find myself looking for something to do. I peruse a bulletin board on the opposite wall filled with glossy brochures and hastily put-together student advertisements for recitals and ride-shares to concerts and operas in larger cities. One brochure in particular catches my eye, a competition for very young artists, with the grand prize of a European tour over the summer.

I get out my small notebook and am in the middle of writing down the details when the door opens and the tenor rushes out with his pianist, a harried-looking young woman with thick glasses and a ridiculously long light brown braid. I'm kind of mesmerized by the swing of it, wondering if she's ever had a haircut when I am interrupted by a tornado of a woman with wildly curly dark hair and a vibrantly expressive face. I feel like I've seen her before, but I can't place it.

" _Sei la prossimo cantante_?" she asks, waving me in without waiting for an answer. "_Come __t__i chiam__i__, cara mia_?"

"Isabella Swan," I answer, my own name coming out automatically with an American accent, and no formality. I mentally kick myself for not showing that I can speak Italian at least passably well by now, but she interrupts me and totally invades my space before I can regroup.

"You are American!" she exclaims in lightly accented English, steering me into the room before shutting the door behind us. "I will speak English with you, okay? I used to live in New York, and I _never _get to practice now that I am back in Italy, but I will practice with you, and maybe it will be good for you too. Listen, I have to tell you some bad news: Professor Bini is in the hospital—"

The words fall into my ear with a tinny ring_, _emphasis on _hospital._

"Oh no! What happened?" I ask, going over everything I've ever said about him to Aro in my mind. "Is he okay?"

_Is it my fault?_

"He had a heart attack, and for now he's hooked up to machines and tubes, but the doctors say he's going to be okay," she says with a tilt of her head that tells me there is emotion she's not letting out. "I am his daughter, and will be teaching for him until he gets better. You can call me _Professoressa_ if you really want to, but it's okay to call me Francesca, too."

Guilt and relief get into a little tug-of-war until my memory kicks in and I realize where I've seen her before. She's not _famous_ famous, but I've seen her on youtube when browsing for various interpretations of arias. She really does seem to want to not discuss her father anymore, so I let it go for the moment.

"Francesca Bini!" I say, smiling. "I've heard of you! You sang Violetta in _La Traviata_, right?"

She looks pleased, and I'm no longer remotely freaked out that she invaded my space. I kind of want to hug her, but I just settle for smiling like a confused, embarrassed tourist.

"You are so sweet, but it's not going to get you out of singing in this lesson, eh? I like to make up my own mind, so we just sing now," She starts playing a scale at a breakneck pace and gives me the eyebrow, as if to say _jump on in,_ so I do.

It feels like a bit of everything as the vocalises seem to test all the limits of my voice: my speed and flexibility on the scales, how long I can sing a legato phrase without taking a breath, and after a while, she tests my range as well. On a series of peppy little arpeggios, she surprises me by making me go higher than the standard high C or D, but what's really different is the way she seems to be suggesting I reach the upper notes. She makes this kind of relaxed, alert happy face, like she wants me to do the same, and as I mimic her expression, the notes at the top come out small but pure and flute-like, not full and gorgeous like I want them to.

And she won't stop—she just yells out "Good! Keep going!" like a maniac until I can't go any higher.

"What was that?" I ask, feeling light-headed after she finally stops. "I've never gone that high before, but it was kind of weird!"

"That's ridiculous! Nobody ever makes you sing in your whistle tone before?" she looks at me like I'm crazy or lying. "You do know that you're a soprano, right?"

"I've never sung that way, except for the high C, but I've been trying to make that bigger. Is that what it's called, 'whistle tone'?"

"Well, you might not learn it from a tenor; they don't sing like that," she shrugs. "They just try to muscle everything up there, like manly men."

"I guess that's it—all of my voice teachers so far have been tenors," I say, feeling a little cheated.

"What, you don't like women or something?" she asks, as if deciding whether or not to kick my ass. "Don't tell me you're one of these girls who hates all women; I don't like that. We women have to stick together sometimes, you know?"

"No, I like women fine! I just never had a female teacher before. I can see the disadvantage of that decision now," I protest, starting to wonder how someone so fearless could have come from Signor Bini's gene pool. Her mother must be something else.

"I like the color of your voice; you should have something deep and moody," she says, and I smile a little in secret.

"Oh, I do." _ His name is Edward Cullen, and he'll be here any minute. _"I like deep and moody music," I say, listing some of the arias and songs in my repertoire that fit that description.

"Of course, yes. Those are all good choices for you," she says absently, rifling through her father's music cabinets. "How about ... have you ever sung any Korngold? I've got just the thing for you. I can hear your voice in it."

"I haven't," I say, as she sits down and starts to play and sing this gorgeous piece in ... _oh shit_, German. "Das Wunder der Heliane_."_ Still, it's lush, and Aro might make an exception, because I can see him really liking the music outside of the language. It's so gorgeous I want to learn it anyway, whether or not I ever let Aro hear it. "It's really beautiful."

Even I can hear the hesitation in my voice, and she turns to look at me very seriously.

"So, tell me, Isabella, what do you want from our lessons together?" she asks, looking at me so directly and intensely it reminds me of Dr. George. "Do you study hard and practice?"

"I want to get really good, as fast as possible," I say quickly, realizing she probably knows nothing about me. "I want to win some contests and start working while I'm still here in Europe. I'm not afraid of working; you can ask your father."

"Let's see what he has to say about you, then." She arches an eyebrow in challenge and reaches for the notebook Signor Bini sometimes writes in during lessons.

I wince, and she looks at me like, _ha, I caught you!_, until she really starts reading, and her face blanches a few shades paler.

"Don't. Please, Signorina Bini," I beg, touching her arm softly. "Don't be afraid of me, please, and don't treat me any differently just because of this."

Her eyes widen as she finally notices the pendant where it lies partially hidden by my shirt and long hair.

"But you are different," she says quietly. "I can't pretend otherwise. I see now why my father has been so anxious," she says, with a hard edge to her voice before bringing one hand to her mouth in a gesture of fearful regret.

"I'm so sorry," I say softly. "I promise, I never wanted him to worry about me."

"But you wear their sign," she says gravely, tilting her chin toward my pendant. "That means you accept their protection. Don't you know that?"

"I don't have much of a choice," I say, feeling the words crowded with truth and wrongness at the same time.

I'm waiting for her to say something when there's a knock at the door. Edward usually just comes in, so I'm a bit surprised when he opens the door hesitantly.

"I'm Edward Cullen, here to play for Bella," he says smoothly, flashing his most charming smile at her as he walks past us toward the piano.

By the sheer force of Edward's pretty face, she snaps out of it, giving me the universal _Did you see the hotness?_ open-jawed request for confirmation, fanning her face once his back is turned. I kind of smile at her conspiratorially so as not to undo all of Edward's well-placed charm, but have to take a deep breath to keep from laughing or shooting him the finger when I see the smug expression flash across his face for a second.

"Signorina Bini," he says, all sincerity, charm, and just the slightest hint of flirtation, "I'm so sorry to hear about your father's illness. Please give him my regards." He seems to acknowledge her dazed expression as a reply and then opens his notebook full of sheet music he already has memorized. "What am I playing today?"

She looks between us for a moment, catching us in a silent exchange.

"It _is_ complicated, isn't it?" she sighs, shaking her head a little. "So you want to win contests and impress your patron?"

"I kind of have to," I say under my breath, leaning in a little.

"Contests I can tell you how to win," she shrugs, frowning in concentration. "It's more or less just a formula. You find out who the judges are and show them what they want to see. If your voice is good enough, it's all about picking the right song and the right dress. Making your boss happy is a different story."

"We can help you there," Edward says with such confidence that even I find it convincing. "There's no reason for you or your family to fear on our account."

"I guess I don't have much choice either," she says with grim resignation. "Let's get started, okay?"

**~oЖo~**

"Isabella?"

I'm just leaving my last class for the day, and all I want to do is get home, but my reaction is immediate, instinctive. I look over my shoulder only to discover my would-be friend from choir. She looks determined, and I've blown her off one too many times to pretend not to see her now.

"Hello," I smile at her apologetically, thinking of putting her off by not speaking Italian. "I'm kind of in a rush."

"I know," she says, reminding me that her English isn't bad at all. "You're always in a rush, but if you could, just spare me one minute."

"Listen, I'm really, really sorry, but I just can't talk to you," I say, feeling like a complete ass. "I just can't. I have to go now."

I slip into a stairwell, hoping she'll prefer to take the elevator. It's not much of a hope. That elevator looks like it might take the bodies of its victims straight to the vampires. I don't think I've ever seen anyone actually use it—they just open the door, look inside like it's an empty refrigerator, and decide that it's probably equally dangerous to crawl into as if it were one.

"Just a minute," she says, thrusting a piece of paper at me. "Just one minute, Isabella. I just want to know if you've seen these people."

It isn't just a piece of paper; it's a picture printed off the internet displaying the smiling faces of three young people, two girls and a guy, in front of the Eiffel Tower. One of the girls looks like she could be related to my would-be friend. I refuse to take the paper and step past her, gripping the railing as I make my way down the staircase.

"They just disappeared," she insists, following me. "No bodies, no record of them having checked into a hotel, no explanation, no nothing. But I know they were in Volterra already, and I know _they_ had something to do with it. Everybody knows, but nobody ever does anything about it."

I shake my head, looking away from her, keeping my eyes unfocused, but she just keeps moving so that I'm forced to look at her. When I get to the landing in between floors, she steps directly into my path so I'm forced to either deal with her or shove her down the staircase. The idea is starting to have some merit.

"I know you're scared," she says, leaning in close to me. "I would be too if I were you. Some people think they're mafia, but there are some who think they're worse than that. That maybe they're not even human, that they're va-"

Her eyes widen in shock as my hand clamps down over her mouth, and I shove her into the wall. I didn't realize I was going to do it. I wasn't going to touch her. My hand feels ice cold against her skin, and I shiver, wondering if this is some weird preview of my life to come.

"Don't be an idiot," I whisper, my voice coming out much harsher than I expect it to. "Think about what you're saying. What good do you think could come of it? If you're wrong, people will think you're crazy, and if you're right, you're as good as dead, going around saying things like that."

"Are ... are you threatening me?" she asks, once I take my hand away from her mouth. Her voice shakes with fear, and I realize for the first time it's from something I've done, directly.

"No, I'm not threating you," I say, exasperatedly. "I'm trying to warn you. You obviously can't take a hint."

"How can you be so callous?" she demands, though her voice still trembles a bit.

"And how can you be so reckless?" I bite back, sounding exactly like Edward in full hissy fit. "Look, I don't want to be rude to you, but you clearly have no regard for your own safety. Will you just drop it?"

And I guess it's true what they say about couples starting to look and sound like each other after a while. It's almost like he's here.

I make for the exit of the school, walking as quickly as I can. All I want is to focus on something sane and normal, like an opera contest. I hear the hot pursuit of heeled footsteps behind me and duck into what of course is ... a blind alley. And I'm trapped.

"Why won't you admit what they are?" she fairly yells at me in desperation as I turn to face her.

"Would you keep your voice dow..." I hiss, my voice trailing off as I see that we have company. It's like a surprise party filled with my least favorite stalkers. "Hello Demetri," I say tightly. "There isn't any reason for you to get involved with this. I was just having a little argument with a classmate."

"It's okay, Bella," he says, his voice hypnotically smooth as he approaches her. "Whenever citizens of Volterra decide they really want to know about what goes on in our lovely city, we have ways of accommodating them."

Yeah, I bet. Accommodations in the dining hall, or the blood bucket room, wherever they go to chow down. Anger wells up in me, but this time I don't blame her. She's just trying to find her people.

My fault. Again. How many people will end up in the hospital or dead because of me?

My heartbeat pounds in my ears so loudly I can barely hear anything else, but when he grabs for her arm in exactly the same spot he once grabbed me, and she starts to struggle, I step in between them without even thinking about it. Before I can even think about what I'm doing, I hear what might be the crack of an armbone and her small, terrified cry of pain.

Everything in me is screaming for me to do two completely opposite things at the same time. The only thing that tips the balance is the fact that she is me one year ago, terrified and utterly defenseless, and I know I can stop him without losing my own life.

At least, I think I can.

I keep my breath even as I deliberately place my hand over his. My skin shivers in revulsion to his icy strength, but his eyes soften in indecision. I can practically feel him wavering.

"What are you doing?" she asks behind me.

I don't know which one of us she's talking to, and it strikes me that I still don't know her name. Because I didn't want to get involved.

_Right. _

"Let her go, Demetri. Please." My voice sounds foreign to me: low, dangerously calm, and deadly serious. I sound like Charlie, or Carlisle.

"What will you give me?" he asks with smarmy playfulness, letting go of her arm with a flourish, effectively breaking contact with me as well, but not getting out of our way, either.

I feel sick, but we're talking about a human life here. I wonder if Alice was kidding after all, and I choke back a bit of bile.

"What do you want?" I ask, my heart racing, my skin clammy against the cool winter air.

Maybe it's something in my tone, but his face falls a bit, and he looks frustrated. He looks at me again, _really _looks this time, and gets this concerned look on his face, except that it's not fake, for once.

"All I want is for you to give me an honest answer to some questions," he says carefully. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything besides that."

"And you'll let her go?" I ask, wondering where the trick is. "Right now, and leave her alone after?"

He nods, and a million knots in my stomach untie at once, taking just about all my energy with them. My knees tremble, but I will myself to stay upright. Somehow, I do.

"I can do that," I say, turning quickly to her. "Just go. Don't even think about this anymore. I promise, there is nothing good that can come of it."

"What about you?" she whispers, rubbing her arm. It's pink and already swelling up. "I won't leave you alone with him. What if he hurts you?"

"Just go," I repeat with unexpected conviction, staring at her injury. "I'll be fine."

She looks like she won't go, but then she looks again at Demetri, and walks quickly past him, looking curiously over her shoulder every couple of feet until she disappears.

"Something special about alleys and helpless women, Demetri?" I ask, stepping back from him, hoping he'll stick to his side of the bargain. "What do you want to know?"

He pauses, as if having some internal debate about the first question. He does not close the gap between us, for which I am grateful.

"Did you really throw up at the mere idea of _encouraging_ me, whatever that means?" he asks, looking hurt and confused. "And just just now again, you felt nausea and fear." This time it's not a question. He probably can smell the bile, the fear.

I did promise honesty.

"Yes," I say, feeling a little bit bad for him in spite of everything. "That did happen. I'm sorry."

"Have you ever thought anything remotely good about me?"

I stare at him in shock_. _"You nearly broke my arm, like two seconds after meeting me, Demetri. What do you want me to say?"

"Not even the first moment we met?"

I close my eyes, thinking about the very first night we met in Keys. Unbidden, it's as if I'm there again. I can practically feel the pulse of the Arabic music as I move toward the stage, and first collide with him. I remember thinking, because Edward had never truly touched me until that moment, or so I thought—

"When I first ran into you," I say, "I thought you were Edward, because of your height and build, and because you smelled like him. I realize now it's the vampire scent."

"You call that good?" he scowls, looking sincerely dejected.

Why is it that the only sincere emotions that seem to come from this guy are all sad and orphan-like?

"It's remotely good," I say, feeling uncomfortable. Just because first, I am not voluntarily touching him again, and second, I don't want him tracking down the lady afterward, I decide to throw him a bone. "I thought for a second that you were handsome enough to be him."

"And then?"

"And then you became a monster," I say bluntly. "You hurt me, and then you hunted me. You made fun of me when I begged for my life, and then you came very close to taking it from me forever. I had nightmares about you for months."

I don't know what makes him finally believe me, but as I speak, he meets my gaze directly—no tricks, no flirtation. He just listens.

"And he became your hero," he concludes, his voice full of acceptance, for once.

"Yes," I say, relieved that he finally seems to get it. "He saved me that night from you, and a hundred times since in my dreams."

"Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?" he asks, still serious. My jaw drops in disbelief, and he rushes to add, "About me being a monster, that is."

"I don't know," I say, my mind reeling, "but I'm very glad you let that lady go."

He shakes his head, as if not understanding what I'm saying.

"Bella, listen to me," he says, putting his hand lightly on my arm. I don't jerk it away as I'd like to, but carefully move it to break contact. "I'm not going to hurt her, nor will I do anything to put her in danger. You should realize what is in her nature. She won't stop until someone stops her. If it isn't me today, it will be someone, and probably soon."

I look down the alley passage to see if she might still be there, willing her to be gone. I know it's irrational, and he can track her wherever she goes now, but a part of me just wants, or needs to believe that I managed to save someone's life. That all this sneaking around and compromising and hiding things has been worth something good.

When I turn back, he's nowhere to be seen.

Relief and dizziness wash over me, and the wall meets my back, holding me up like it's my best friend in the whole world.

**~oЖo~**

Sometime later, I slip into the apartment as quietly as I can. Edward's already here, playing something truly beautiful. Ravel, maybe? I see the back of his head lift in acknowledgement of my arrival, but I just want to wash the day off of me as quickly as possible.

"Whatever it is you're playing, I love it," I whisper softly, knowing he can hear me. "Just give me a few minutes to feel human again."

I slip into the bathroom and take a very hot, quick, and thorough shower, scrubbing extra hard at the spots where I came in contact with Demetri until my skin is as bright pink as hers was. The difference is, I won't have a hand-shaped bruise on my arm this time, and she will. She'll probably have a cast on her arm, if I ever see her again.

If I don't, I won't even know her name to find out if she's missing. Maybe Edward knows who she is. I shove it to the back of my mind again, trying to take comfort in having done the little I could do for her today.

I wrap myself in a big fluffy robe and twist my hair in in an equally big and fluffy towel. On impulse I shove my clothing into the chute in the bathroom that goes to the apartment's incinerator. It seems a little dramatic of me, but I never liked that sweater, and I feel strangely better when they disappear down the metal shaft. I wash my hands again in the sink and pause to ask myself if I'm losing my mind. I look up and take comfort in seeing my father's and grandmother's eyes in the mirror.

For now, at least. I wonder if vampires go nuts and then laugh at myself for even asking. Most of the vampires I know seem to have some kind of mood disorder, at the least. Maybe I'll always be a little off.

When I come out, Edward's still playing. I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his neck, inhaling his scent. I start kissing his hair, his neck, his jaw, but I stop when I see his expression. He's just kind of staring off into outer space.

"What's wrong?" I ask, desperate to feel the connection between us. "Edward, please talk to me."

When he finally looks at me, there's accusation in his eyes, and a strange guardedness I've never seen from him before, not even when we first met.

"I know you're hiding things from me," he says quietly.

"No more than I have to, same as you," I reply, kneeling down next to the bench, since he won't make room for me and I can't move him.

"It isn't the same," he says roughly, turning back to the keyboard.

"How would I know that? How would you?" I ask in a whisper, leaning my head on his shoulder. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Then why do you feel the need to shower the moment you come home?" he asks suspiciously.

"That was for me, not to fool you," I protest. "I had a really shitty afternoon, and I just wanted to feel everything from it gone."

His stone body feels immobile, and I worry for a moment that he's going to freeze me out entirely. I can see it in his face, and it scares me. I don't even know if he'd believe the truth if I told him everything. Not that I'm allowed to tell him everything.

"You forgot about your bookbag."

Right, with Demetri's scent on it, and that of the lucky woman sporting a freshly broken arm.

"No, I didn't. I told you, I wasn't trying to hide anything from you," I sigh, standing up in a defeated slouch. "I didn't forget anything, but I'd really, really like to. I was hoping to let it all go and just feel close to you. I'm sorry if you can't believe me, even now that you know how I feel. I'm telling you, I didn't do anything wrong."

I turn to go into the bedroom when I feel his arms around me, pulling me back to the piano bench. He gathers me on to his lap and inhales sharply against my bare neck. I feel the towel on my head loosen and fall to the floor, my hair falling around our faces in long wet spirals.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispers harshly against my neck. "I'm so sorry. I believe you."

I want to tell him everything, but in her text message Alice only gave the incredibly mysterious and frustrating instruction that I shouldn't tell him about any of it until I felt I had to. I don't even know what that means, but at the moment he seems way too moody to risk it. It would be better to wait until he's calmer, and it's not like he's exactly been a basket of chatter about his adventures either.

"I am hiding things from you," I murmur, playing with his hands clasped at my waist. "You want to know what they are?"

"Yes, always," he growls. "I _need _to know. I don't care what Alice says right now. I can control my temper. I know I can."

He sounds like he's trying to convince himself, and failing.

"Well, for starters," I begin. "I haven't told you anything about how it's going with the task of finding Chelsea's weaknesses. You know, that gorgeous vampire who has told everyone that she'll sleep with a certain vampire by New Years or give up humans for a year?"

_Yeah, I heard about that, Edward. _He hisses out a breath of annoyance, so I keep going.

"And even though you've been totally patient and have only asked once," I continue, "I still haven't told you about what happened when this certain vampire went to talk to Caius and Afton about Esme's painting."

"It's so boring you must have forgotten to mention it," he says, playing along. "I would have forgotten it myself if you hadn't just reminded me."

"Why don't you read my mind and tell me anyway?" I whisper, touching my forehead to his. "Unless Alice says you'll be so bored that you fall off the bench and accidentally hurt us both."

"Well, it was a _little_ funny," he says, abandoning the game. "Caius and Afton were both surprised to see me, for one, and then the whole time I spoke to them all they thought about was whether or not I could read their minds, and what would happen if Aro ever found out."

"Found out about what?" I ask, sitting up a little straighter. "Do they have some kind of juicy secret? Is Caius shtupping Sulpicia? Or no, Aro would know when he touches her, so that can't be it."

"Ooh, look at you speculate, little Renee Jr." he laughs, and relaxes for a moment. "No, I suspect that the secret itself isn't nearly as juicy as the fact that they are utterly convinced that Aro would, in fact, rip Afton limb from limb if he ever found out about it. Of that they were utterly certain, and very imaginative about it as well. I believe them."

"That's good, right?" I ask. "If Chelsea cares about her mate, anyway. But she touches Aro all the time, so she obviously doesn't know anything about it, and you'd have to find out what she's going to do. Have you talked to Alice?"

"Yes, and it's tricky," he says. "It's a little time bomb, and one that could be either very good for us, or a complete disaster, depending on a thousand tiny factors. The best scenarios so far are the ones in which Chelsea finds out in such a way that she won't hate Afton for it and reject him, but unfortunately, Afton keeps chickening out of telling her himself."

"And that's the best way?" I ask. "Surely you could convince him of that."

"I could, if she would stop trying to get into my pants," he says, and holds me still when I start to struggle. "I'm not his favorite person right now. Mmmm, I love it when you're jealous. Your temperature goes up at least two degrees, did you know that?"

"Your nose does seem colder," I snap. "And you could act a little less delighted when you piss me off like this. You'd think someone with your jealousy issues would have a little compassion."

Now he really cracks up.

"Ow!" I yelp when I forget myself and try to hit him. "Ohooow. Don't laugh at me, Edward! You suck."

"I'm sorry," he laughs, holding my pained hand against his face. "I was just laughing because if you knew the thoughts I read all day long, you'd understand my double standard. I know it's not fair, but I can promise you it's totally natural."

"Whatever," I grumble as my pout gives way to a feeling of utter bliss as he nuzzles my neck and holds me closer. "That's cheating, you know. Just because you can manhandle me and you know where all the sweet spots are, doesn't mean you can just—" His lips on mine make me forget whatever the rest of that sentence was supposed to be.

I guess Edward can do whatever the hell he wants as long as he keeps kissing me like that.

"Have you given any thought to how you want to approach Aro about this contest business?" he asks after a while.

"He's the one who said I'm not aggressive enough," I say, confused. "Didn't he pretty much dare me to take some initiative?"

"Haven't you been paying attention?" he says, shaking me gently. "He dared you to play his favorite game. Complaining about your lack of complaints was just his way of inviting you."

"His favorite game?" I ask. "I thought we were already playing _Let's Make a Deal. _Isn't that enough?"

"That's the long-term game," he says. "He was annoyed that his attempts to rattle our cage weren't working. So now he's invited you to play a very special edition of _Heads I Win, Tails You Lose._"

It takes me a second, but I get it. "A Catch-22?"

"Exactly."

"So, If I take initiative and do something without his permission, he'll punish me for going against his plan, but if I don't, he'll continue to accuse me of being boring and therefore not worth his time?"

"And they say humans are slow," he says, kissing my cheek. "I think the whole guard has fallen for this game at one point or another."

"Games, games, always games with him. Does he ever stop playing with people?"

"Just be glad he's got music to occupy his mind. When he isn't thinking about that he's constantly plotting his next move in the hundreds of little dramas he has brewing. It never stops."

"So wait, how do you _know _this? I thought you couldn't read Aro's mind?"

"I guess I do have a secret worth hiding," he whispers, and his eyes shine with satisfaction as mine widen at the implication that he might be able to read Aro a lot more than he's been letting on.

**~oЖo~**

_"Edward, that feels so ... good ... don't stop," I moan, rolling around in high, flowering clover. _

_There are shamrocks all around us, not the little clover you usually see growing wild, but the giant ones with great leaves like butterfly wings. The scent of him and the green around us is utterly intoxicating, and the sight of Edward over me with stars and a huge moon behind him just completes the enchantment._

_"Oh, lucky! I think this one has four leaves," I exclaim, though in examining it a bee flies straight at my nose. I yelp, surprised and a little frightened._

The moon, stars and clover shimmer and dissolve in the darkness, but Edward just solidifies further, no longer inside me but rather this solid mass against me, cool hands caressing my face and arms. I turn to him and snuggle in tighter to find him wearing nothing but his favorite pair of khakis. He's worn them so much that the cloth has become unbelievably soft, and I can never keep my hands off of it. I don't try now, I just rub my nose in his chest and move my hands in slow, languid circles over the fabric covering his backside.

"I love it when you make the sexy dreams come true," I whisper in the dark. "How was the hunting?"

His chest rumbles against my face with his low, quiet laugh.

"Fine, I guess. I love it when you say my name like that in your sleep," he whispers back, palming my rear end and lifting me a little before rolling us until I'm lying beneath him on the soft mattress. "Although, the end there was a little confusing. Do you remember what happened?"

"Well, you were over me, like this, except, you know, fewer clothes and much further along in the process," I say, too embarrassed to use explicit language.

"You mean I was _fucking_ you?" he whispers, low and silky, the air of his breath tickling my ear and neck.

"Oooh," I pant, unbelievably turned on. "Yes ... that."

"Tell me," he demands, kissing my ear and neck while one of his hands slips cool under my nightgown, sweeping over my skin in a languid, teasing arc.

"You were f— doing that," I chicken out, my face flaming and my heart beating wildly. "And we were outside, in clover, and the moon behind you was really huge, and there was a four-leaf clover, and a bee flew out of it right at me."

"Bees again?" he murmurs, amused. "We know what that means. Why don't you tell me what's going on that's got you dreaming about bees again?"

"What ... _ohh!_ ... do you ... ah ... mean?" I ask, slightly nervous. "It's really hard to focus when you do that, you know."

"I mean," he says, continuing his sensual assault on my ability to think, "I mean, we got a little off-track in our conversation earlier. You were going to tell me what happened after school today."

"I was?" I murmur, intensely distracted by a certain vampire turning me slightly while peeling off my nightgown with his teeth.

Somehow, even in the shadowed darkness his eyes remain fixed on mine, and I kind of know why some animals just stare at the lions when they attack. I think Edward could sink his teeth into me instead of the fabric at this point and I'd die a happy woman. It's only now I notice the music playing softly in the background. I can just barely make out the instrumentation and background spiraling around a man's deep, mysterious, and incredibly seductive song, his voice caught somewhere between the growl and the poetry of his words. It reminds me of vampires and their odd, catlike noises.

"Is it the hunting or me sleeping that gets you in the mood?" I ask languidly, enjoying the cool night air on my bare skin. "Not that I'm complaining, because ... oh, not at all."

"Bella," he insists, taking one of my wrists and bringing it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. He kisses the spot where anyone would take a pulse, lightly, but slowly, until I feel nothing but the tiny bit of me his lips touch. It's a cruelly tiny amount of skin, but I can feel my pulse there like a mad drumbeat, as if all the drops of blood in my body want to be there, just under his lips.

Why is he going so slowly? And the music...it feels like a seduction, but, I mean, by now he knows, I'm kind of a sure thing. His tongue flickers across my wrist, his eyes glinting with determination, and I gasp. It's almost embarrassing.

"Yes?" I ask, though I'm not sure what I'm saying. I reach my other hand to touch his face, maybe pull myself to him so we can get going a little faster, but he traps my other wrist with the first and slowly kisses that, too.

"Bella," he whispers, bringing my hands over my head as he settles between my legs.

"You're still wearing pants," I point out helpfully, thinking he might have just forgotten to take them off. He somehow manages to hover over me, his body so close to mine I can feel the energy of it, the magnetic pull of him making me tremble and strain toward him. I arch my back to try to get closer, but he manages to resist until I'm ready to beg. The only bare flesh of his to touch mine is one of his hands keeping my wrists locked in place on the pillow above me.

"I think you want to talk about it," he says, skimming his nose along the contours of my face until I'm dizzy with desire. I tilt my mouth to his, and feel his response, an all-too-brief flash of unleashed passion before he pulls away. "No, Bella. Not until you tell me."

"Tell you?" I pant. I can't remember what he was asking me. Something about school.

"What happened with Demetri?" he murmurs. "I need to know. He won't come close enough for me to read his mind, and I can't read yours. It's making me sick, Bella."

"Sick?" I ask stupidly, straining for another kiss. Our lips touch, but just barely and it's like pure fucking torture. "But it's okay now. I fixed it. He won't bother me anymore."

He stills for a moment, but then moves again; this time his nose skims along my jaw to my ear, and I start shaking.

"Edward, please. _Please,_ I need you."

He presses into me, and I feel not just the rough weave of his pants against me, but his obvious excitement as he grinds into me. Trailing softest kisses along my throat, he brings me close, until I feel like my whole being is throbbing and needing just the tiniest bit more friction—when he stops again.

"Don't fucking stop now!" I cry out in frustration, and he cocks an eyebrow, eyes curious. "How can you tease me like this and still think about other things?"

"I'm a vampire; we multitask well. So, he has been bothering you?" he asks, running the fingertips of his free hand lightly down my side, making a couple of highly necessary circuits around my hips and all the way down to my knee, calf, and finally ankle. Just as delicately as he had done with my wrists before, he takes my ankle and brings it to his mouth as well, kissing a path from ankle to knee. The stretch in my muscles borders on unpleasant until I move my hips, shifting them slightly to bring my other leg around his waist. "Has he been bothering you, Bella?"

"Yeah?" I ask dazedly, staring at his perfect tongue as it flickers against the soft, sensitive flesh on the back of my knee. _Sweet holy..._

"I know he's not allowed to touch you unless there's an emergency, or unless you give him permission, so which was it today?" he asks gently as he rests my ankle on his shoulder, lets go of my hands, and brings his other hand down, stopping to gently fondle my breasts, teasing them. "Tell me."

"Umm...maybe I should call Alice and make sure it's okay," I worry, in a panic. A look of anger flashes in his eyes, and I immediately regret how that came out. "But I guess if she hasn't called to stop this..."

And now my other knee is getting the treatment, but he's kind of glaring at me, and his pants are _so mean_ to be in the way right now because just a wiggle and that bad boy would be inside me doing magical, magical things. Surely this counts as a necessity.

"Actually I don't think I'd care if she said it wasn't okay," I blurt out, meaning it. "I mean, when she tells me they rip you up and set you on fire as a result of me telling you something, of course I wouldn't dare, but if you say you won't lose your temper, I totally believe you, so please, _please_ promise me you won't, and then promise me you'll _take off these pants_."

Now he's looking at me with something in between a glare and a smirk, and he kisses my ankle again, resting it on his shoulder as he lifts his hips slightly. One of his beautiful, glorious hands goes to the evil fucking buttons on his pants and undoes them incredibly slowly. I feel like cheering him on. He leaves them on but they're kind of uncertainly hanging there on his hips, like the slightest movement could make them slide into a spectacularly useless pool of fabric at his knees.

_Please, slide. Go pants. Go. _

He hovers closer, my ankles locking around his neck as he comes closer. I can feel him straining against me, the cool tip of him meeting hot, slick skin in the most promising way.

"I couldn't deny you if I tried, Bella," he says, obviously lying because he's not inside me yet. "I promise, everything. Don't let this be a secret between us tonight."

Maybe he's right. Secrets are bad, right?

"Well, that lady from choir," I whisper quickly. "The one who keeps trying, she was hounding me again**.** I think she lost a family member to the Volturi or something. She has a good idea of what you all are, and she just about said it in the middle of the stairwell at school. I think Demetri overheard her, because he was just there and was all ready to take her away, but I asked him to stop, so he did, on one condition."

"He _what?" _Edward snaps, pulling back. "Bella, they never stop once someone finds out. What the hell did you do to stop him?"

His hands are in his hair, his face contorting in anger. Instinctively, I move my legs from his shoulders to his waist, and shift my weight into his lap.

"You promised," I tell him, shutting my eyes tight. "Plus, it's not bad; he just wanted to know for sure if what you said at the party was true, and why. I told him that he was a monster to me and always was. I know he gets it now, finally."

He goes deadly still, and I can practically feel the anger in him, coiled like a deadly snake. I kiss his shoulder and stroke his bare chest lightly, willing him to calm down. After a moment he pulls me closer, burying his face in my neck.

"And he broke Volturi law just to find that out?" he asks, shaking his head. "That doesn't make sense, Bella. He probably could have gotten you to do just about anything to save that woman's life. Why would he be satisfied with that?"

"I don't know, but I was relieved," I say, not making much sense of it either, since he put it that way. "He did warn me that she'd probably end up in trouble anyway, if not today, then soon. I think he just really wanted to know the truth. I would, if I were him."

"You're not him," he says blandly.

"I know," I whisper, pulling myself closer into him. In spite of his anger, he's still _very_ happy to see me. "If I were Demetri, I don't think you'd let me do this."

I lean in slowly to kiss him, giving him time to respond, slowly winding my arms around his neck. He frowns, his mouth responding to mine as his mind races with possibilities at vampire speed. The switch flips again, and he tilts my head to get a better angle, his demanding lips and tongue forcing my mouth open, his hands all over me at once. With a low, intense groan he pushes me down and brings my ankles back up to his shoulders, and fucking stops again.

"I've told you everything!" I protest. "Edward please, you know damn well I'll do anything you want."

"Good," he murmurs, positioning himself right at my entrance. "Then don't say his name again. Ever."

I laugh, but he growls at me. Not joking, apparently.

He narrows his eyes and thrusts into me then, and I cry out with pleasure and relief. We've never done it like this, and the pressure is unbelievable. The urge to do something is overwhelming, but he's got me effectively pinned down and at his mercy, which is a little unnerving ... but incredibly exciting, too, as is that look in his eyes.

I'm so close it doesn't take long before I stiffen with a strangling cry that seems to last forever as his hips slap against mine, and our eyes stay locked. Something's changed, and it's deep, vital, angry, and real. His pleasure seems barely restrained, but it is clearly in check, just at the breaking point, while mine goes on for so long I worry that my voice will get hoarse.

I lose count, and nearly lose consciousness as another wave takes over, Edward seemingly unstoppable, his face determined, almost as if he's claiming me with every thrust.

I reach up to touch his face and he closes his beautiful eyes, pressing his face into my touch.

"Edward," I murmur, over and over between waves of pleasure. "Let me ... God, just ... kiss me. I want to feel all of you."

"Someday," he says, moving our bodies seamlessly while never breaking our connection, until his mouth is flush against mine. "After I've changed you, I'll take you to an island where we can be alone. And I won't stop, and I won't have to hold back."

"Will you bite me then?" I ask, an additional thrill running up my spine. His eyes get really wild and he stares at my neck, moving faster until we both cry out.

"God, Bella," he groans, shuddering against me, his eyes shut tight against his pleasure. "Don't say things like that until you're changed."

"You liked it," I tease gently, playing with his hair in post-coital bliss. "You _really_ liked it."

"I almost did it," he laughs shakily. "That was way too close."

Now that my brain is coming back to me, I know I should be angry with him, but I just can't seem to care. Maybe later. Or maybe I pushed him to it, I don't know. Hell, if this is what I get for holding back, I'm not sure it's such a bad thing. Still, I know it's not cool to be manipulated with sexual favors. It's hot, but it's not ... I clearly have no brain left. And I'm not sure that all the bones in my body haven't been replaced with jello, either.

"God, I love you, Edward Cullen," I whisper reverently against his ear, sealing it with a small kiss. "But if you ever manipulate me like that again I'll..."

I trail off, realizing there's not much I could willingly do to him that would amount to more than a completely weak threat.

"You'll what?" He asks curiously, a sly smile playing at his lips.

"I'll conspire with Alice and think of something," I warn, yawning.

"Okay, tough guy," he says, grinning. "But just for the record, I didn't do anything rash, and it was worth it."

"Totally worth it," I sigh, snuggling in tighter, trying not to think of three faces smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower.

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: **

**Italian translation:**

_**Sei la prossimo cantante?**_** Are you the next singer?**

_**Come ti chiami, mia cara?**_**- What's your name, my dear? **


	31. Surface Calm

**Chapter 31 Surface Calm**

**A/N: Thanks to speed-beta NelsonsMandela, and the musicfucking ****and heroic safetynettery ****of Feisty and Algie, and to the big fucking spider who freaked me the fuck out today. IN MY CAR. **

**I also love all you ****readers, ****reviewers**** and recommenders****. I may never be able to catch up and answer every one, but I'll give it a shot.**

**Chapter Music**

**Jung Lin performing Liszt's "Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2"**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=D9-2jM5RNSs**

**Anna Moffo sings "Signore, ascolta" & "Tu che di gel sei cinta" from Puccini's Turandot**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=-3c9bxc06AU**

**Nikolaï Lugansky plays Liszt's "Feux Follets Transcendental Etude" at the 2008 Verbier Festival**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=iZj-8x5i6Bs**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but an inexplicable big cowardly spider living in the cracks of the dri****ver's side**** car**** door. Said spider**** may or may not be a brown recluse, and may or may not be dead, depending on whether it took the opportunity to escape when I went inside Ace Home & Garden to get some spray. I told it to leave, and that I appreciated its taste in music, since it took the opportunity to start crawling on my window right near my face when this gorgeous song came on the radio. I said, "Hokay, imma leave the window cracked so you can leave. I know your only crime is living in my car and your only mistake is coming out to hear good music and/or kill me, but I can't concentrate on driving when I'm trying to tell if you're a good witch or a bad witch, so please run off and live in the cracks of the pavement here instead and be happy."**

**~oЖo~ **

_Whshhhhh... _

Their voices sound almost exactly the same as the breeze blowing through the apartment. I'd get up and shut the window, but I kind of like hearing the sounds of Volterra, and I'm enjoying the moderately cold weather. It reminds me of Forks, and the chill on my skin makes me feel _real_. I know that sounds weird, but sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up in a loony bin and realize that the past year has all been some kind of hallucination brought on from post-traumatic stress after being attacked in an alley.

_Whshhhhhh..._

There are so many of them talking on the group chat. I vaguely register the sound of wind blowing through sheer curtains, but the dappled sunlight playing on Edward's skin has captured my attention for the moment. Everywhere the gold-white light hits him, he looks like a god, or at least like the statue of one in motion. The effect is hypnotic.

He's on the laptop, talking to Eleazar and Alice again, verbally testing out scenarios, I think. They rarely talk at human speed anymore. It used to drive me nuts to be excluded from their conversations, but I found out pretty quickly that the only thing worse than that was actually being included. All they do is talk through hypothetical situations that usually end up giving me nightmares, so I'll save my breath and wait for the good news that always comes eventually.

No thanks to me, since they can hash through this stuff way faster than I can. My job is to sing. Sing well, that is. And keep calm.

And I'm getting better at it. I don't even cry anymore. I'm trying to be _zen, _like Jasper says in our little web-chat meditation sessions. He says they're as much for him as they are for me, but I don't care. I'm just happy to have him back in whatever way I can, and I think the meditation is helping me chill. And I really need to keep it that way, because when I'm not, Edward starts to look like he wants to just pack up and get us the hell out of here, and _that _gives Alice nightmares.

They've been at it for hours, but nothing works definitively. Sometimes Alice sees us going on tour, sometimes not, and it's hard to tell why.

"Too many variables—the judges, Aro, the two of you," she says irritably, her voice sounding a little like wind chimes.

I've given up trying to write in my journal and instead am playing solitaire, not even looking at the computer, just sitting opposite Edward and laying the cards down over and over on the smooth glass of the coffee table. I'm still pissed off about Aro's latest petty bullcrap, and solitaire—with actual cards, not the computer game—always calms me down. There's usually something deeply satisfying about sorting order out of chaos, but today even that eludes me. The cartoonish faces of the royal cards seem mysterious and threatening to me now, like they're telling me they have secrets but refusing to say what they've done and why. And right now, why is the only thing I want to know.

"I thought things were going well," I complain under my breath.

All the windy noises stop except for the actual wind, and when I look up at his face, Edward's looking at me with concern.

"Things _are _going well," Alice insists.

"Then why won't he let us go home for a visit?" I ask, finally. "Surely Aro doesn't need us for this week."

"I thought you understood, Bella," Edward says, with a hint of reproach. "Even if he had let us go, it would be too dangerous to visit anyone. Not your parents, not my family. He'd only have us followed."

Anger flares up inside me again, and I tamp it down as best I can. I just want to feel my mother's arms around my neck, and have a completely awkward exchange of affection with Charlie. I want to get annoyed with Jacob and let Billy yell at me. I know that sounds weird, but I just want to feel normal for a couple of days. Ten minutes, even. I wouldn't trade Edward for it, but a break would really hit the spot.

"I just feel like we're being punished, or clutched at. Either way..." I trail off, because there's no really useful thing to add that would complete the sentence and not make Edward worry about me even more than he already does.

Either way, I hate it? Either way, I'm going to lose my fucking mind? That I just want to get out of this walled double city and _pretend_ to be normal for just a few days? These may be true statements, but they are not helpful ones.

"I doubt this is punishment," Eleazar's deep honey voice intones. "But you are right—Aro's reluctance to let you go, even for a short visit, indicates his determination to keep you close, like a treasure. He already sees you as his possessions."

"As musicians, or as members of the guard?" I ask, wary of the rebellious fury on Edward's face.

I know better than to ask him what he's thinking when it's not so difficult to imagine him killing 137 people. I won't get an answer, but the chill of his unfocused gaze haunts me more than I'd care to admit.

"As far as I can tell, there isn't much of a distinction in his mind," Edward says in that scary-hot dangerously calm voice of his that I've been hearing a lot lately. "We need to make that distinction for him. We need to make him see us primarily as musicians and make his own plan seem more enticing for him than trying to force us to become Volturi. This contest is a good idea, and it would push everything forward nicely if we win it. The problem, as usual, is Aro."

"I wish he ate cookies," I sigh, leaning back in my chair. "A dozen chocolate pecan cookies fresh out of the oven and Charlie would let me get away for a weekend, even when he didn't think it was such a good idea."

"A gift of some kind might help if it were anyone but Aro," Eleazar says. "He always views gifts with suspicion, and anything he wants he pretty much just takes. Right now the only thing he wants that he can't have is you two in his guard."

Everyone's quiet for a second. I have no idea what would appeal to Aro as much as cookies do to Charlie. Probably the Girl Scouts who sell the cookies. This of course makes me wonder what the Volturi policy is on kids. Surely they have some kind of "little fish get thrown back in the water" rule for humans, right?

"Just because he's not easy to shop for doesn't mean a gift is out of the question," Jasper counters. "Bella here acts like you're torturing her if you buy her something, but if you make her something with your own hands, she lights up like a Christmas tree."

"Aro's music plan was mostly a smokescreen for getting us here," Edward says thoughtfully, and I could kiss him for distracting me from _that _train of thought. "But if we gave him something tangible, like a recording, that could be valuable later on if he were to follow through with it."

"I like it," Alice says with certainty. "You guys have a lot of work to do if you want to get that to him by Friday. After that it's too late."

Too late? Too late for what?

Just one more question best shoved under the carpet for now, most likely. Thoughts of what "too late" might mean come to mind, the worst involving any scenario in which I become a vampire, but eternally separate from Edward. I think I'd rather die a human death, which is also a distinct possibility.

I shiver just thinking about it, and Edward frowns at me as he goes to the window to shut it.

"I'm used to it," I say, in answer to more than one silent question.

I close my eyes, shoving images of multiple unwanted futures to the back of my mind. A soft blanket engulfs me, and I feel his kiss against my hair.

"Thank you," I whisper, trying to infuse my smile with warmth and reassurance.

Edward doesn't look fooled, so I put away the cards and go sit beside him on the couch, snuggling in close. I can feel the tension coming off him in waves, but he relaxes slightly as I tuck myself under his arm.

"So there's something we can do, right?" I ask as he gives me that stare which tells me he hasn't given up on trying to read my mind. "I'd much rather focus on music than sit around worrying or feeling resentful. Just you and me and music, right? That's my real home."

**~oЖo~**

No sooner than the decision is made to make this recording, Edward sets up the recording equipment and tunes the piano. After that, he barely leaves the piano bench.

I feel a little nervous, so we don't record for a while. The microphone just seems to stare at me, and on this control panel a red light beams at me like an evil eye.

It's not like I haven't been recording myself for the past year. It's just never really mattered this much before. Plus, my little digital recorder doesn't have an evil red eye.

"Don't worry about it," he says soothingly, adjusting the microphone. "We can record everything, and I'll edit anything that isn't right out. The more we record, the more I'll have to choose from. Sound good?"

He sits down, and I adjust the panel so I can't see the light, which helps.

I nod, and we get started with warm-up scales as usual. It takes me a longer than usual to get into the zone, and I end up taking a break under the piano, letting Edward's flawless playing cover me like a warm blanket while I read a tattered old copy of _Jane Eyre_. I know. I think about reading something more challenging, but this is my little nod to the overall concept of being on vacation.

Soon my fears dissolve, and the music takes over, not only comforting me but making me want to be part of it. As quietly as I can, I move out from underneath and sit next to Edward as he finishes playing one of the Debussy pieces that helped bring us together. By the time it's over, my head has migrated to rest on his shoulder.

"You feeling better?" he asks gently, taking my hand between both of his.

"The best," I murmur, stretching my neck to give him a soft kiss on the lips. "Thank you. Did you play Debussy for me?"

"For us," he smiles, warming my insides as much as his touch cools my skin. "And it stays off the recordings for Aro."

"How do you always know what I need?" I ask. "I wish I could do that for you."

"You do, Bella." He looks sincere, but I don't see how.

Like with the recording—Edward plays whenever I sing, and never has to stop to rest or sleep or any of that. He could probably record a hundred hours straight before needing to hunt, and on top of that he does all of the mixing and polishing of the recordings. All I do is show up and sing one line of melody and try not to mess up. It would be generous to think that I contribute even twenty percent of the the work and talent to our professional relationship. I just hope it's somewhat more for our personal one.

When I'm a vampire all of that will change. But for now, I'll just work on my twenty percent.

After a short warm-up in which I feel far more connected, both to Edward and the music, we start with Michaëla's aria from the opera _Carmen_, a favorite for both of us. The song is like a hand in glove for my voice, and the lush piano part suits Edward so well that the familiar hum of the column wraps around both of us, and time takes on that amorphous quality which makes me feel less like life is rushing around me, and more that I'm flowing right along with it. I just give in to it. After a few more familiar pieces, Edward reminds me to rest my voice.

"I could go longer," I protest. "I'm not tired yet."

"You're swaying on your feet," he observes, his lips curling in amusement. "Besides, we've been recording for two hours. You need to pace yourself, or you'll lose your voice before we even get to the new stuff."

That is true, so I go into the bedroom and look at the new material, the arias for the unfortunate slave girl Liù from _Turandot_. Since Edward occupies the piano, I use the lazy singer's method of learning new music: I plug in my headphones, log in to YouTube, find great performances of it, and listen to them over and over while following along in the score. It's kind of the stereotypical way for singers to learn music, but it's undeniably faster than fumbling around on the piano, and Edward is busy.

While I'm not singing, he's recording the most difficult music in the solo piano repertoire. Liszt, Debussy, Beethoven, Bach. He never fumbles, but, ever the perfectionist, sometimes he records things two or three times, varying a phrase or the tempo slightly to get a different shade or tone. Sometimes he records several times, for reasons beyond my comprehension. I don't mind. His focus, his concentration is incredible. I'd be exhausted from watching it, except that the music itself wraps around me and I sink into it, caressed by it as if it were some physical manifestation of his incredible mind and soul. I take up residence under the piano again, and I swear, there's an extra softening to his playing, a sweetness when I take up the old habit.

When I sleep, he plays Chopin Nocturnes, and I find myself floating in dreams of sailing in a huge ocean under a starry sky, the white sails glowing dimly in the moonlight.

In this way, I never truly leave the column, and my singing seems to just keep getting better as a result.

On the second day I e-mail Francesca Bini some recordings of the newest arias, and she offers to come over for an impromptu voice lesson. I'm pretty sure she just missed Edward's pretty face.

We work for just over an hour, and I soak up her instruction like a greedy sponge. Unlike my male teachers, she doesn't hesitate to put her hands on me, making several helpful posture corrections while I sing. Occasionally we do some decidedly weird movements, like swinging the arms like a toy drum, or singing each phrase while doing a deep knee bend, but it seems the weirder the exercise, the higher the payoff. By the time she's ready to go, I feel like I could sing for hours, and tell her so.

"I don't mind helping a student like you, who wants to work," she says after the end of the lesson. "I don't care who your friends are. You _have to work hard_ to be a good singer. _Especially_ if you're a woman in this business. You'd be surprised how many girls come in thinking they can just look pretty, act like a bitch and the music will happen automatically. It doesn't work like that!"

"It wouldn't surprise me at all," I laugh, thinking about some of the other opera students back home.

"We gotta lot of work to do if you want to win that contest," she says, squinting her eyes at me. "And you should get some tweezers. You need some better eyebrows. Look, try to make them like this—you can do a good bitchface, like this," she pauses, giving really good, uh, _bitch_ face. Then she moves her eyebrows slightly, giving her an instantly tragic expression. "Or look like you just lost your parents and your dog and all that, or like you're crazy in love, like this," and she ogles Edward, but in such a silly, over-the-top way that I can't even pretend to be mad at her.

"Tweezers, right," I say, writing it on the bottom of my list. "Open my mouth more, don't scrunch my forehead, fix the rhythm on page two of "Signore, ascolta_"__,_ don't lock my knees, release the tongue, show some cleavage, and tweeze my eyebrows. Am I forgetting something?"

"I don't think she has to show more cleavage," Edward scowls, but Francesca's having none of it. She shakes her head at him and smiles.

"You are so cute, but sometimes, I swear, you act more like my grandpapa than a young American guy," she says, dismissing Edward's objection as she heads for the front door. "Don't worry, Edward, nothing too scandalous. We can talk about that later."

**~oЖo~**

On the fourth day of recording, I start to feel a little stir crazy, and I think Edward notices it. I can't tell whether I'm annoying him or worrying him.

"I'm out of tea," I announce, cutting short a recording session that is going nowhere very fast. "And I need some fresh air and sunshine."

"Could you do me a favor while you're out?" Edward asks, surprising me. "Afton has been skulking around the place, hoping you'll come out on your own so he won't have to talk to me directly. "

"Uh, Afton? Oh yeah, Chelsea's mate, right?" I ask dimly. I know he's crucial to the general plan of getting Chelsea and her manipulative skills out of Volterra, but I keep forgetting what he looks likeand what he does. "I have this vague recollection of someone who looks slightly like a fox? Is that right? And doesn't he know you can hear him?"

"That would be him, though I'd say he looks more like a weasel," he says tersely. "Clearly, he is unaware of my range. I don't think anyone but Aro and Demetri know for sure what my limits are. Most of the vampires seem to think I need to be able to be within normal vampire hearing range to read their minds. Could you just take the painting from him? He's driving me insane."

"Why wouldn't Aro tell everyone about your range? You'd think he'd be craftier than that."

Edward laughs, and I get the distinct impression that he's laughing _at _me.

"Nice, Edward," I say, annoyed. "I'm just trying to get inside his head."

"Bella, why do you think he wants me to join the guard?" he asks, looking a little sorry and a little condescending at the same time. "And for the record, Aro's head is not where you want to be. I wish I didn't have to get in it myself. It's very much like Volterra itself—bright and intriguing on the surface, but full of danger and secrets underneath. I'm sorry I laughed at you. It's just that you have no idea how twisted his thoughts are, how shallow his trust. He wouldn't even tell Caius or Marcus."

"That sounds so lonely," I say, shuddering. "I can't imagine thinking that I have nobody I could really count on."

His slight smile falls, and he comes to me, reaching out to skim the back of his hand across my forehead and down my cheek.

"You always surprise me," he says softly. "Carlisle has had the same thought so many times. But it's Aro's Achilles' heel. True loyalty comes from deep love and the desire to protect those who depend on you. Aro could have this, if only he could refrain from cruelty. If only he didn't feel the need to push people to the point where they find it necessary to protect themselves from him."

"But doesn't he know this already, since one touch would tell him?" I say, bewildered. "Doesn't he realize he's doing it to himself?"

"He knows," he confirms. "He just can't help himself. Those who love him must also love cruelty, or else they eventually want to leave, like his sister, or Carlisle."

"He must love Jane most, then," I say with a little shock of realization. "With anyone else he could dismiss their loyalty as fear. She could probably hurt him if she wanted to."

"He would be afraid of Jane," he murmurs into my hair. "But he loves her like a daughter, and he knows that she basks in his approval. But he thinks her affection is quite conditional, and he's right."

I shake my head, slightly disheartened at Aro's convoluted machinations and cynical relationships.

"So, I should go downstairs and pretend to be surprised to see Afton?" I ask, squaring my shoulders. "Do you think I can pull it off?"

"You don't have to pretend anything," he says. "Just go to the store, and whenever he interrupts you, you don't have to say anything."

Even though Afton isn't scary at all, I still start to feel a little anxious. The feelings that arise at the mere idea of stepping outside of Edward's direct protection make me realize how much safer I've felt for the past couple of days.

"I'll be able to see the whole thing from his eyes," he says. "Don't worry, he doesn't mean you any harm at all. He's afraid to be near me, and certainly doesn't want me angry with him."

"Are you telling me that he's more afraid of me than I am of him?" I smile incredulously. "Is this like killing spiders?"

"Maybe a little, and besides, if he changes his mind, I'll be there in an instant," he grins. "Do you really think I'd let you go down there by yourself if I thought there was any danger?"

He's acting pretty confident for someone as overprotective as he is, so I kiss him and quickly head downstairs. I don't see any vampires around once I step outside, but there's still plenty of sunlight, so I jut go to the tiny little grocery around the corner from us to get the few items I need. Edward's working so hard I wish I could pick up something nice for him, too, but I'm pretty sure that would be a huge mistake.

The urge to take care of him seems as natural as cooking for my parents or friends, but the idea of bringing home an animal—what would it be, like, a bunny? For him to ... slaughter. Uh, just, no. Then there's the added bonus of Edward's sincere belief that if he were going to chomp anything around me he might lose control and drink my blood. The first time he said it I almost believed him, but now I just laugh at him. If he had it in him to kill me, he would have done it by now, and that's not just my opinion, but Alice's, too. She told me she's never seen a future in which Edward kills me, just him worrying about it. Still, it wouldn't be so horrible to have a bottle of blood in the fridge that I could just heat up for him in the microwave.

It's such a missed opportunity—there could be a great little shop in Volterra where vampires could come and pick up a pint of their favorite blood type. I wonder if the types taste differently. Seems like they might. I wonder if Italians taste nice and garlicky, or if vampires can get drunk off of drunk people. I should probably get drunk at least once before changing. I keep meaning to, but when it comes down to it I don't have anyone to drink with anymore.

"Isabella?" the soft whisper comes to me like a golden snake, and I jump a little in spite of myself, dropping my shopping bag.

I turn in the direction of the sound, slightly relieved to see the vampire whose face I had been struggling to remember. He's wearing one of those capes they always wear on sunny days, but as the shadows cover him, the hood is off for now. He's as pale as the Cullens, with wavy dark hair and cheekbones so high that his eyes appear slightly slanted. He's fairly good-looking, even for a vampire, though the overall effect is slightly shady. Seeing him outside of the context of Aro's constant belittling, I can see that he and Chelsea have a sort of Bonnie & Clyde appeal—a beautiful-people-gone-wrong kind of vibe. I'd love to watch a movie about them, but I still don't want their company.

"I'm so sorry, did I scare you?" he asks in a distinctly upper-class English accent, though he doesn't help as I chase a small bottle of milk before it rolls too far away.

He just stands there, staring at me while holding a flat, brown rectangular package. The painting for Esme, I presume.

"It's okay; I was off in my own head," I say, making sure I have everything together. "I should pay more attention."

"What were you thinking about?" he asks curiously.

"You'll laugh at me," I warn him. "It's kind of embarrassing."

"I was just wondering ... about what you all drink," I say in a hushed tone, checking to see if anyone is close enough to hear. "Like, are there different flavors based on blood type? I've heard that vegetarians aren't appealing, but what other factors are involved? What if they're drunk, or smokers?"

"You really want to know?" he asks, amused. "We're not supposed to talk to you about this sort of thing, you know."

I think about it for a second.

"I don't want to think about people getting hurt," I admit. "But I am curious in the abstract."

"There is a great divide among us over smokers vs. non-smokers. I prefer the taste of nicotene," he confides. "And most of us actually enjoy the presence of garlic in the system as well. Fortunately there are still smokers in Europe."

"Thanks..." I say, fighting off disturbing images, as impersonal as the information is. I can't help but think of that picture of the three people in front of the Eiffel tower, and wonder if they smoked or not. Whether the vampire in front of me might have killed and consumed one of them. I shake my head, not willing to think of that right now.

He narrows his eyes at me, and puts one elegant hand to his chest.

"Afton," he reminds me, with a sour look.

"Oh, I remember you," I manage to smile weakly. "You're Chelsea's mate, and you have a talent with artwork, right?"

I don't know how he manages it, but he looks both mollified and offended at the same time. Judging from the way Aro manages to constantly belittle him, I'm thinking he assumed I would have forgotten him if I had ever even noticed who he was. Something Charlie once said about interrogations comes to mind: butter up the guy with the bruised ego, and he'll tell you anything you want to hear. Granted, most of the interrogations Charlie ever did involved underage drinking and petty disputes between neighbors, but I know that Edward is listening, Afton is unguarded, and I don't think I can do any harm by paying a vampire a compliment or two, so...

"Did I get your talent wrong?" I ask interestedly. "I don't really know what you can do except that you're helping Edward buy a painting for Esme. He says nobody can find art objects like you can. Is that true?"

"That's part of it, yes," he says, his posture straightening out. "If I know what I'm looking for, I can track any object down, not just artwork. I can even do more than that—once I touch something, I can read it. Not only do I know exactly what it is, whether it's a rare jewel or something created by humans, but I know everything there is to know about it. As far as artwork goes, my skill is valued because within one touch I know exactly how it was made, when it was made, who made it, and where it's been."

"So really, you can do what Demetri _and_ Aro can do, only with things instead of people?" I don't have to pretend to be impressed; his skill is much more interesting than I had originally imagined.

"You could put it that way," he says, sounding pleased. He kind of stares at me intently for a second. "So, Edward spoke of me? Did he say anything else?"

I can't tell if he's still fishing for praise or if he's just nervous, or both.

"I really shouldn't talk about that kind of thing," I say weakly. "Although he didn't say it was a _secret_, exactly. It's just that people don't usually really want to know what Edward hears about them. In your case I don't think it's all that bad."

"It isn't?" Afton looks truly surprised at this. "But he does hear things ... about me. From me, too?"

"Like I said, it's not that bad," I shrug. "I don't think it could really hurt to tell you if you really want to know. You have to promise not to get upset."

He looks around, up at the windows, and, I suppose, seeing only humans, he nods.

"He says you worry too much," I whisper, leaning in somewhat close. "He says you seem to not understand that he can only read exactly what you're thinking at that moment, not every thought you've ever had."

He looks somewhat relieved.

"Did he say anything else?" he asks, clearly believing me. I feel like a fortune teller.

"Well, once, when I was kind of jealous of how beautiful all the female vampires are," I say, deciding to push my luck, "he did mention you once, when he spoke about what Marcus sees between mates, and the way Chelsea influences relationships."

If he was interested before, he's absolutely riveted now.

"He said," I continue, relying as much on what Alice said about possible futures, "that even though everyone is loyal to the Volturi, they're far more loyal to their own mates. He said that not all of the Volturi are completely aware of this, and that it's mostly because Aro doesn't want them to know."

"He really said that? Are you sure?"

"Yes, and he said that Aro didn't want you, in particular, knowing about it. That he doesn't want you to know that if Chelsea had to choose between you and him, that she'd choose you." I look down, then, as if having second thoughts. "Afton, I don't think Aro would be happy with me telling you this, for obvious reasons."

"Don't worry, he never touches me, not since I first came here," Afton frowns, looking perplexed. "I've always assumed it was because he thought I wasn't worth the bother."

"Oh?" I ask, trying to feign a casual tone. "I thought he generally gave most everyone a choice? He never touches Caius, and he's one of the triumvirate. You can't get any more important than that."

"He really said that she would choose me over Aro?" he asks, his voice low and silky. "He said those exact words?"

Afton looks a little scary right now, though I don't feel threatened. I just don't think he believes me. Maybe it's just the general proximity to vampires who hunt humans, but I'm starting to get a little antsy.

"He said if she _had to,_" I clarify. "If you don't mind, I should be getting back. Edward and I are rehearsing."

"Of course. I certainly didn't mean to detain you so long, Isabella. But since we are here, would you mind terribly taking this back with you?" he asks, thrusting the brown package at me.

"Sure, what is it?" I ask. "Is this Esme's painting?"

"It is now," he says, frowning as I try to balance the bulky corners and my groceries at the same time. "Be careful with it. It's insured, but it isn't as if Matisse is around to paint another."

_Matisse? _I drop my groceries again, but just manage to hold on to the painting. Afton gingerly takes it from my hands, like it's a ticking time bomb.

"On second thought," he frowns, retrieving the priceless art, while simultaneously drawing his hood over his head, "I'll just walk you to your door."

**~oЖo~**

_I've been scrubbing, I'm not sure for how long, but it seems like hours._

"Bella, stop."

_I can't stop. I really need to get this stain out before Edward gets home. _

_But who just said that? _

_It's Edward. I think? Something seems off, but I can't figure out what it is. _

_I can't move my arms, and I need to scrub._

_"I've tried everything," I explain. "I tried regular cleanser, even straight bleach, but it's getting worse. Where did all this blood come from anyway? It isn't mine." I huff in exasperation. "I'm almost there, though. Don't worry; I know it will come out if I just scrub a little harder..."_

_Blood seems to be seeping up from the bathroom tiles as I scrub, and the chemical fumes are starting to make __my __hands ache and nose itch. But I'm determined._

"Bella, stop!" he yells sharply. "You're bleeding. Please, wake up."

_"No, it's not my blood," I say, looking down at my hands. _

For a moment I feel like I'm seeing two realities at once, until the dream dissolves into reality like a heavy fog in sunlight. It's disconcerting, because I'm still in the bathroom, with a scrub brush in my hand, but there's no soap and no water. The stain is gone, and I must have done something wrong because there's a slight abrasion on one hand with a thin stream of blood coming from one of my knuckles.

"It's not..." I stare at Edward in confusion, taking in his concerned expression. "What ... I don't understand."

I really don't.

"It's okay," he says quietly, without taking a breath.

_What have I done?_

He takes the dry scrub brush out of my hands and tucks it into the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink. He gently guides me to the faucet and washes my hands for me while the fog lifts, like I'm a child. Frowning, I remove my hands from his with a tug.

"I can do this," I say, my voice sounding wrong and tinny in my ears. "You don't have to treat me like a baby. I'm not going to shatter, you know."

Immediately, I feel guilty, seeing the pained look on his face. I refuse to look at him again as I wash up and get the small bottle of liquid bandage from the medicine cabinet. My hands shake as I try to unscrew the top, and the whole thing slips from my fingers, landing with a loud glass-on-ceramic clattering noise in the sink.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, as he takes the bottle from me and applies the stinging liquid. Blood, bright red, stops pooling beneath the clear congealing substance, but does not darken. The sting and the harsh scent hit me at the same time, waking me all the way. "I just can't believe I did this. This must be killing you, Edward. I'm so sorry."

Ashamed of myself, I don't look directly at him, but my eyes find his in the mirror anyway. He turns me toward him, puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses me sweetly. Walking briskly into the living room, he opens the balcony doors so that cool fresh air sweeps through the apartment until it smells like wood-burning fires and the cooking smells of the restaurants on the street level below.

"Hey, you're okay," he says, looking deeply into my eyes when I join him. "It was just a dream. There's nothing to be sorry about. You'd be surprised how many people do stuff like this in their sleep, especially when they're under pressure."

It steadies me to hear it, and I take several deep breaths. I look back down at the floor, just to check.

"Yeah, okay," I agree, finally. "Just a dream."

It doesn't have to mean anything.

**~oЖo~**

"Do you think he already listened to it?" I ask, as we make our way down the library's great winding staircase.

"We're about to find out," Edward murmurs, looking slightly nervous.

It's unsettling, going below the surface of Volterra again, even though we haven't skipped a meeting with Aro. According to Alice, it's too early to tell if any of our actions have made much of a difference to anything. All I know is that I don't want all that effort going to waste.

Edward frowns slightly as we near the doors connecting to the palace, but shakes his head at my questioning look and manages to look completely at ease as we enter the hall.

Heidi and Felix stand in the hallway, deeply immersed in conversation. I get the impression that Felix is sort of guarding the door, or at least watching out for something. They pause in their heated discussion, looking up at us curiously. Heidi waves and smiles at us, but Felix sort of looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. I don't know him all that well, but it seems kind of out of character for Felix to be annoyed by the company of women at all, let alone someone as beautiful and nice as Heidi.

I look up at Edward to gauge his reaction, but he just shakes his head again, this time with a slight smile and raised eyebrows, as if he's finding something hard to believe.

He is _so _telling me about this later.

When we get to Aro's music room I'm a little surprised to hear the sound of my own voice filtering in through the door, singing one of the new arias from _Turandot_. I pause at the door, listening.

I wouldn't say this out loud, but we sound surprisingly _good. _I'm used to hearing my own voice coming from my cheap digital recorder, and needless to say, Edward doesn't do any mixing and polishing on my daily practice files. This is completely different in terms of production quality, and Aro's got a great sound system. Usually I only hear the flaws in my singing, because that's what I'm listening for, but this is a pleasure.

"He already knows we're here," Edward whispers, pushing the door open.

Aro stands with closed eyes, conducting, his slim form moving to Puccini with such mastery and subtle grace, it's almost as if he's truly controlling the tempo. I can't help but draw a comparison to how Aro believes he controls us, though by the time the action happens, we've not only chosen the outcome but rehearsed all of our lines. I can only hope it's a comparison that escapes him entirely. He almost seems too happy, and it makes me nervous.

"This is my favorite part," Aro says, expression rapt. "Where poor, brave Liù begs the man she loves, not to play wicked Turandot's game. You beg so nicely, my dear, even in the face of certain tragedy! It very nearly softens my cold dead heart to hear such a beguiling sadness, such delicate hope and longing, knowing her _inevitable_, tragic fate."

Now that's more like Aro. Is it bad that him saying something totally creepy actually makes me relieved?

"So you like it?" I ask shyly, choosing to ignore the sinister aspect of his compliment.

"I do. It is exquisite." His eyes open, sparkling in their dark depths. "It was most unexpected. And this," he says, waving a small piece of paper which was enclosed in the CD case. "Can this mean what I think it means?"

"The recordings are yours," Edward confirms. "You can do whatever you like with them. You can hide them or distribute them as you see fit. You have the copyright, and the only copy."

"Mine. All mine, to do with as I wish. Fascinating," Aro breathes, looking slightly giddy. "I must say, Edward, I don't know which disc I like best. The opera is quite lovely, of course, but I confess that I've never heard a better interpretation of Chopin's Nocturnes. And the Liszt, the Liszt!"

He presses a button on a slim black remote, and the music changes to one of Edward's more robust recordings.

"You play it just like he did! Now _there_ was a man who made the most of his deal. Such an artist. Such a shrewd, clever man. Well done, Edward."

After a few moments in silence, Aro looks at us, smiles at our clasped hands and tilts his head to the side.

"I want to give you a gift. A favor, name it."

Edward and I look at each other then, and my nerves go haywire.

"What is it?" Aro asks. "You have something on your mind?"

"There is one thing," I say breathlessly.

"We didn't expect anything in return," Edward interrupts. "We don't want you to think this is a bribe."

"Please, do not insult me," Aro counters. "I wouldn't offer to grant a request if I thought you were angling for it. Bella, tell me. What is this_ one thing_?"

"There's a contest for young singers, and I'd like to compete," I begin, trying to keep a calm exterior as my heart hammers away.

"This is my problem with you, Bella," Aro interrupts with exaggerated annoyance. "You shouldn't ask for things like this; you should just take it. Take some initiative!"

"I'm very glad you said that, Aro, because—"

"It's not the contest; it's the prize," Edward cuts me off. This would probably annoy me if it hadn't been planned out. "The prize is a summer tour. I felt that if you were unwilling to let us go for the winter break, then you'd probably be unwilling to let us go for the entire summer, even if the whole thing takes place in Europe."

"True artists wouldn't wait to ask my permission," Aro says in this patronizing voice, like we've done everything wrong. "I have to say that I'm disappointed in your lack of competitive spirit, Isabella. I can see that it's going to take some time before the two of you learn to conduct yourselves in a professional manner instead of needing me to make every decision for you."

He smiles, as if to say, "_Thank you for playing another exciting round of heads-I-win, tails-you-lose_."

"As I said, I'm very glad to hear you say that, sir," I say confidently, taking a deep breath. "Because I've already signed us up to compete. I was just hoping to have your blessing to accept the prize if we should be fortunate enough to win."

Aro's face freezes in his masque of theatrical condescension, but for one instant his eyes flash with something glittering and deadly. His nods to himself a bit, looking down at his remote. For a moment I think he's going to turn off the music, but instead he turns the volume down slightly, the intricate melody and suspenseful harmonies of Liszt's _Feux Follets Transcendental Étude _still clearly audible.

He listens so intently that for a moment I think Aro might pretend the whole exchange never happened at all. I start to feel a little dizzy, and Edward squeezes my hand gently.

"You're so golden. Everything you do is so perfect, and right," Aro finally says, in a tone so quiet I can barely hear it . "It's admirable, really. Every situation handled perfectly, like you've been doing this for centuries. It really makes me wonder. You, Edward. You would think that with your intrusive talent, quiet, brooding ways, and your bizarre lifestyle, you'd be a social pariah. Instead, the women find your demeanor mysterious, your fidelity to this human either incredibly romantic or a great challenge to their wiles. They even find your diet to be intriguing. Half of the females won't even drink from humans any more, and you haven't even said a word to convert them."

"They what?" I ask, turning to Edward in surprise. "When did that happen?"

"It's probably just a phase," Edward says dismissively. "I'm sure that once the novelty wears off, they'll go back to tradition."

"What a good response," Aro observes dryly before turning to me. "And you, Bella. You float around the place like some gauzy mystery. A human vault with a beguiling scent. Carlisle was always polite, but he was never this skilled in social politics. Not like my guard. But you two, you handle it all like a couple of professionals. Especially you, Edward. Nobody here is as good as you are. Well, nobody since Eleazar left."

He pauses, taking a few careful steps toward us.

"What I want to know is why? Is it your talent, Bella? Could anyone have a shield that powerful as a human? I don't think it's that, no. Or maybe it's you, Edward. Perhaps you can read more than you let on? I know I'd play a bit dumb if I were in your position. Or perhaps it's just _dumb luck_?"

He comes at us with remarkable speed, and I find myself stepping in front of Edward before I even realize I'm doing it. Edwards hands move to my waist, and I feel him tense in preparation behind me. The last thing we need is for this to turn into some kind of physical struggle, particularly with Felix just outside the door. I wonder if Aro put him out there just in case something like this was going to happen.

Aro laughs, stopping just in front of me, and reaches out a cold, papery hand to caress my face. It's all I can do not to shudder.

"So brave. But can anyone be that lucky?" he asks rhetorically. "As brave and talented as you are, it doesn't quite make sense. I can't help but think I'm missing something."

"Of course we've been careful," Edward says calmly, pulling me gently beside him. "Wouldn't you be, in our position?"

Aro relaxes slightly, backing up a step.

"In _your position_, what a concept." he says, as if he's just been asked a trivia question. As if any of this were normal. "You're all very close with Eleazar and his coven, aren't you?"

"You know it to be true," Edward replies evenly. "We consider them to be our extended family. They are the only vampires besides us who share our way of life."

If Aro is missing information, and I damn well know he is, I'm missing part of a conversation. I have no idea what's happening, or what to expect. I feel like I could either get everything I've ever wanted or find myself a ghost in the alarmingly short span of time it takes for Aro to change his mind.

"It makes sense that Eleazar would advise you, I suppose," Aro says quietly. "If I were you I would certainly ask for his help. But if I were Eleazar, I would hesitate to give it. He must be angrier than I originally thought."

"He doesn't see it that way at all," Edward counters. "In fact, Eleazar thinks that not doing so would be an insult to you."

"See? The perfect answer," Aro smiles. "Eleazar has taught you well. Did he tell you the story of his departure with Carmen?"

"Not much. We only know that he and Carmen left on good terms, as did Carlisle."

"They _left_ me," Aro says bitterly, "because I _allowed_ them to leave. By that time we had so many talented guard members that it would have been a mistake to take on any more before solidifying the ranks. Eleazar promised to remain loyal to_ me, _and up until now, he has done so. He promised to help me if I should need him again."

"Which is why he was there in Seattle," I remind him.

He doesn't acknowledge me, but stands, staring at Edward. I may as well not even be in the room.

The final strains of the Liszt piece fade away, and Aro smiles serenely, closing his eyes again. I wonder if Edward blinked, or if Aro has just decided to pretend they weren't staring each other down just now.

"When I try to imagine what I would do if I were you, Edward," he says after a moment. "I can't say I'd do anything differently. After all, who could possibly understand what it is to be you like I can? In some ways, ways that haven't even occurred to you yet, you and I are very much alike. I can see why Carlisle chose for you to be his pretend son."

Aro has quite a gift for making anything good sound sick and wrong. Maybe Edward's right. I don't want to be in his mind, even for a good reason. I hear Edward take a breath to say something, but evidently he thinks better of it. Aro doesn't seem to want interruptions anyway. He's on a roll.

"If we were human, I wouldn't hesitate to choose you to be my heir," he says with a kindly voice. "You have, in spite of first impressions, a natural capacity for leadership. With Bella as a mate you are even more formidable."

Edward draws me closer, a gesture that Aro takes in with greedy eyes.

"But unlike Carlisle, I don't play human." He leans closer, whispering, as if telling us some great secret. "And Edward? In case you haven't noticed..."

He stills, and in his eyes I see a force of nature so brutal, it makes me want to believe in God, just so I can have something to pray to.

"I don't _need_ an heir."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: If you want to know what Aro and Edward were both REALLY thinking for this last scene, there's an EPOV outtake of it.  
**


	32. The Cool and the Shade

**Chapter 32 The Cool and the Shade**

**Thanks NelsonSmandela, Feisty, and Algie, and Camilla10 with the gorgeous Italian language.**

**Thanks also to all readers and reviewers for letting me know your preference on chapters. While I can't make everyone happy, the majority either said they like the chapters as they are or that I should do whatever works for me. So I made a few adjustments, which seems to be making things smoother. Believe it or not, this chapter came pretty quickly considering all the work and traveling I've been doing lately.**

**Chapter Music**

**Prokofiev, **_**Sonata No. 8**_**, played by Sviatoslav Richter  
http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=h-bmxgxH_WU **

**"Gavotte" from Massenet's Manon, sung by Natalie Dessay **  
**http://wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=y6_MuLgHT20**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, just a lingering tendency to scream when anything remotely spider-like touches my skin. And apparently, a lot of you feel my pain. Thanks for all the great spider stories in reviews—especially the person who mentioned that not parking under trees could help!**

#**~oЖo~**#

_**Previously:** "If we were human, I wouldn't hesitate to choose you to be my heir," he says with a kindly voice. "You have, in spite of first impressions, a natural capacity for leadership. With Bella as a mate you are even more formidable."_

_Edward draws me closer, a gesture that Aro takes in with greedy eyes._

_"But, unlike Carlisle, I don't play human." He leans closer, whispering, as if telling us some great secret. "And Edward? In case you haven't noticed..."_

_He stills, and in his eyes I see a force of nature so brutal, it makes me want to believe in God, just so I can have something to pray to._

_"I don't need an heir."_

Sometimes you don't need to hold a conch shell up to your ears to hear the ocean. Sometimes all you need is for someone to scare the bejeezus out of you, and you hear crazy pounding waves, just like you're at the beach. Then it feels kind of like you're floating, like you're in the ocean, and if you're really lucky, your head doesn't hit anything when you pass out. Because that's totally going to happen.

Only it doesn't, because my vampire holds me steady.

"May I speak now?" Edward asks coolly, barely waiting for Aro's shrug. "Do you mind? You're scaring Bella. It isn't at all good for her voice."

Aro rolls his eyes.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" he challenges.

"You've had your test, and you've had your fun," Edward continues, his expression serious. "Bella is absolutely terrified; just hear her heart racing! Not to mention that it was completely unnecessary to say any of that, out loud or in your mind. If there's one thing any properly sired vampire knows, it's that you're not looking to retire."

I'm trying not to lean up against him, but the feel of his body next to mine is so comforting I can't bear to move away. Plus my kneecaps are wobbling like crazy.

"On the contrary, my dear Edward," Aro replies, an amused smile quirking his lips slightly. "Since I've forgone the luxury of reading your mind, I find myself having to rely on the most mundane methods just to make absolutely certain you both understand me."

I'd damn well reassure him if I could even remotely find my voice. Edward seems more than capable of handling the situation, so I just focus on breathing.

"You've seen enough of me through Carlisle's memories to know that I lack any kind of political inclination. You know damn well I find the company of most sentient creatures annoying as hell. I don't even want to lead a coven; you really think I want to be in charge of every vampire on the planet?"

"I know you like to be in control," Aro observes. "You've never had a taste of true power before. I have a sneaking suspicion you'd like it a little _too_ much."

If empathy could have a serrated edge, it would be present in Aro's tone.

"At the moment, the only control I'm concerned about is getting Bella's heart rate back to normal," Edward insists. "Now ease off, or we'll skip this lesson altogether. Unless of course, you're backing out of your side of the bargain."

At this Aro's demeanor changes completely again. No longer the clever, menacing predator, no, not him. Innocent, misunderstood Aro has come to take his place.

"You're so dramatic, Edward," he sighs with breathtaking hypocrisy. "Of course I'm not backing out. I've never backed out of a single bargain, not once. Isabella can handle far more than you give her credit for."

I open my mouth to say, _No, I really can't. _Aro looks at me encouragingly as if I might be about to agree with him, but I end up just kind of gasping like a fish out of water. It's so humiliating.

"She isn't used to our ways," Edward insists. "It's not fair to her to expose her like this when she's still human."

"She certainly defended her mate like a vampire would," Aro counters, turning to give me a kindly smile. "Bella, you're not really terrified, are you?"

I open my mouth, and a sound sort of comes out, but it sounds kind of strangled, and definitely isn't coherent. Aro sighs with resignation.

"Humans are so _sensitive_," he mutters with some distaste. "Fine, take a moment, collect yourselves. Coo and pet each other while I'm gone. When I come back, we're going to talk about the phrasing in the Puccini."

I don't even see him leave. He's just this streak of black and silver. Seeing him move so quickly does absolutely nothing to ease my mind. On the contrary, it makes me realize just how meaningless it was to try to block his way. He, or any of them, could butcher me with a few swipes of tooth and nail, and it's only Aro's will that keeps them from doing so. The thought, and the image of his furious expression makes me feel faint all over again.

I close my eyes against the undulating room, and Edward leads me to a chair to sit down.

"Come on, it's not that bad," Edward murmurs, gently stroking my hair. "Can you put your head between your knees?"

I laugh nervously, because he really does sort of coo and pet me. I hate seeing the world through Aro's eyes. How he makes a gentle touch seem ridiculous makes me really angry. Anger at Aro makes me feel stronger than Edward's reassurances do, which clears my mind a little.

"What test?" I ask, ignoring his question. "You said that he had his 'test'. What did you mean?"

"First, let me know if you're really okay to keep going," he says, lifting my chin until our eyes meet.

"I'm okay," I say, melting when I see the concern in his eyes. "I'll be fine; I just need to understand. He—he was so_ angry_. When he came at you like that, I was so scared, Edward. If anything ever happened to you, I swear, I wouldn't be able to handle it."

"Why did you step in front of me, Bella?" he says, looking slightly amused and annoyed. "What exactly did you think you were going to do?"

"I wasn't thinking," I shake my head. "But he stopped anyway. He was trying to—" I broke off, aware we could be heard, and just touched his forehead.

"No, that was his test," he clarifies, leaving me to wonder if this is good news. "As much as Aro would like to read my mind, he knows I'm faster than he is. What he was really doing was learning more about you. He never knows what you're going to do, and it fascinates him."

"Oh God," I whisper frantically, starting to panic. "Did I fail? What was he looking for?"

"You didn't fail," he says, his arms encircling me. "You didn't, my brave Bella."

I breathe in his scent, letting it steady me.

"Edward," I say after a moment. "What _was_ that? Why did he act like that? And what did you mean when you said I'm not used to it?"

"As much as we appear to be human, we're not," he says patiently. "We are fierce creatures, and most of us usually act like it. That was just Aro expressing his annoyance. I should have warned you that it might happen. I wasn't remotely surprised."

I look at him incredulously, and he laughs softly.

"Honestly, Bella, it's not that far out of the ordinary. You should hear some of the things Rosalie thinks at me when she doesn't get her way. It's just part of who we are."

There's truth in his voice and eyes, but Aro's words hang in the air like several sharp darts in a bullseye.

"Rose, maybe, but Esme? I have a hard time believing she'd be comfortable here." He's not using his lying voice, but he's not _not_ using it either.

"There's a reason Esme's never been here," he informs me. "Anyway, If he had asked to speak to us in a more formal context, I would have been much more concerned. This was a completely normal reaction from Aro not getting his way."

I still don't know if I believe him. On one hand, he would definitely lie to me about this if he thought it would bring me peace of mind. On the other hand, vampires have always reminded me of big jungle cats, so there may be at least some truth to his story. It's probably some of both.

"Okay," I say, making up my mind to be okay with this, mostly because I don't have much of a choice, and I'm tired of feeling like a wimp. I mean, I'm signing up for this, technically. I'll be one of them someday, so the most logical thing to do is accept and adapt. "If you say everything's okay, I believe you."

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking unconvinced.

"I chose this world when I chose you," I remind him. "The sooner I adapt to it the better for all of us, right?"

Another silvery whisper of air, and Aro emerges quietly from the hall. I hide a spontaneous shiver by hugging my sheet music close. I hope the gesture makes me look eager to sing.

"You see, Edward?" he says, black eyes glistening in satisfaction. "Isabella is much tougher than you think."

Edward stands up straight, squaring his shoulders. I'm not really surprised that Aro's been listening to our conversation, apparently, but it was nice to have at least the illusion of privacy for a moment.

"You were right," Edward concedes, with a slightly faraway look in his eyes. "And you're angry with me for influencing Sulpicia, even though it was unintentional."

Aro narrows his eyes and throws up his hands in frustration.

"Yes, Sulpicia. My own wife, chasing deer and pigs," Aro mutters peevishly. "When she should stay in like the rest of the civilized world. God, I miss Carlisle. _He_ knew to be subtle about his deviant behavior, at least back then."

"Wait, Sulpicia has turned into a vegetarian? Humanitarian, I mean?" I ask stupidly.

_"Vegetarians. _Now I know why you all call yourselves that," he continues ranting. "Do you have any idea how sanctimonious new vegetarians can be? I don't know what's worse, their taste or their memories. _I _was the one who was always trying to convert him, and that's as it should be!"

It occurs to me briefly to remind him that I, too, am a new vegetarian, but since it's only for Edward's comfort I'm not sure it really counts.

"What do you want me to say, Aro?" Edward asks, sounding far more exasperated than afraid. "It's not like she even hunts with me. All I ever did was answer her questions in your presence. Should I have been rude to her?"

"Don't be stupid," Aro hisses.

Edward shrugs helplessly.

"If you don't like Sulpicia hunting on the reserve, tell her. I'm sure she would obey your wishes."

Aro scowls, and looks out the window.

"No, I can't," he says bitterly. "The sainted lady never complains about my little overindulgences."

If Aro considers sleeping with whomever he pleases and many centuries of world domination to be 'little overindulgences,' I wonder what would qualify as a big one.

Neither Edward nor I have any comments worth sharing about that, so we wordlessly take our places at the piano. Aro listens while making helpful notes in my score, and he makes a few particular suggestions on the places he thinks I should breathe that make a surprising improvement to the overall flow of the aria. It's a challenge to use this new phrasing, and I get dizzy the first time we try it, but the results leave me tingling, physically and emotionally. I can feel the excitement of an "aha" moment coming on, even if it's not quite right yet. I catch Aro eying me appreciatively, like I'm going to grow another head at any moment.

"That's enough for now," he says, a hint of challenge lingering in his tone. "Go win your contest, then we'll discuss the prize."

Somehow I don't really find this answer encouraging.

#**~oЖo~**#

A lot of people think that learning another language is something to be snooty about, but I find it one of the most humbling things a person can do. When you go to a foreign country and can't speak the language right away, you have to accept that people are going to treat you like a toddler at best, or a complete idiot at worst. For the first three months, it's as stressful as hell. You feel like your brain is going through a meat grinder, and that you could really mess up almost any time you open your mouth. Fortunately, I've been through this before with another Latin language, and I have my magic necklace, so learning Italian isn't as stressful learning French was. Which is good, because the stress of being Aro's pet human is plenty stressful enough.

Since I only spent a summer in France, what I didn't know is that somewhere around the three-month mark of language immersion, something clicks, and things get a lot easier. In fact, after that it starts getting fun. Sure, I still make some mistakes and there are pockets of vocabulary that are fairly mysterious to me, but the frustration of perpetual ignorance just disappears.

When classes restart in the new semester, my new schedule has the Italian equivalent of an opera lab instead of choir, and my Italian courses have moved beyond mostly tedious basics into lessons focusing on extracts of real poetry and literature. The extracts are surprisingly well-organized, tied into larger lecture series for students who are already fluent in Italian. While the larger lectures are nearly impossible for me to follow well, I can still get something out of them, and the smaller classes for those in my level of Italian seem easier by contrast.

With Francesca as my voice teacher, my official reason for being in Volterra gets better all the time.

And I'm getting used to her total lack of boundaries ... I think. Right now, we're working on achieving optimal resonance while singing—what opera singers call singing _in the mask_. When you do it right all the bones in your face are supposed to vibrate, and, if you do it right, you get loud. Opera-singer loud. Like, almost supernaturally loud. At least, that's what's _supposed_ to happen. What's actually happening is that I'm trying harder, but it's not the kind of trying. I'm doing it all wrong and I feel about as dumb as a box of hammers, because it's been explained a thousand different ways and I'm still not getting it.

"Isabella, how long are you gonna do this the hard way?" she scowls, pacing towards me like a lioness.

We are both just about out of patience.

"I'm not trying to do it the hard way!" I wail, frustrated. I'm so close to getting it that I can practically taste it, but it keeps slipping away.

She frowns and feels my shoulders, making a clicking noise as her surprisingly strong fingers start to work the muscles there.

"You are way too tense," she says. "No wonder, _cara mia_. You're clutching all your energy here in the shoulders when you should be directing it up and forward till it comes out of your eyes, with passion! You can't hold it in, you'll go crazy. You gotta get it out. You hear that, Eduardo? This girl is too tense. I'm assigning you to use those magic fingers on her every night so her shoulders don't feel like they're made out of two rocks."

I can't argue with that.

"Yes, Signorina Bini," he says smoothly. "I'll give it my best."

"You can thank me later, Bella," she winks at me. "Okay, we're going to do something different. This time you touch me while I sing," she says, bringing my hands to touch her freakishly warm face, hovering over her cheekbones and nose in particular. "This time, I want you to see how this feels when I sing it in the mask, the right way, which is the opposite of what you been doing. Go ahead, handsome."

She nods at Edward, and he begins to play from the same spot in the Puccini we've been hammering to death. I take a deep breath, clear my mind, and prepare for my "aha moment" for the millionth time.

And I know I'm close— I've got almost all of it down— the Olympic-swimmer breathing technique, the relaxed throat, all that. I just need that little light bulb to go off. I'm ready. I've been ready. I try to get zen again, willing my mind to clear.

When she starts to sing, she's not even that loud yet, but I feel this faint buzzing beneath my fingertips, where her cheekbones and her nose rest just below the skin. Although "resting" isn't quite the right word. They're buzzing, like some bony beehive.

And then she gets louder, and the buzzing gets more intense. It's almost like she's plugged into something, and I say as much.

"That comes from the air, Isbella," she says, slapping her lower abdomen before slapping mine. "You plug into the air and you use it, you use _all_ of it. The air is like water coming out of a hose, and when you learn how to sing in the mask, _use_ those cheekbones of yours. Okay, try the lip trill again for me, and I want to feel it in your face. Make like you have laser beams shooting out of your cheekbones. It sounds weird, but just imagine it happening. Picture it in your mind, and I think you might feel it this time. I got a good feeling about this time, come on!"

She _always _says she has a good feeling, and she never gives up. That's one of the things I love about her. Okay, laser beams it is. I don't know what that means, but I try to imagine what it might feel like if I really could shoot lasers out of my face. It would certainly come in handy for dealing with Jane. Or Demetri, for that matter.

This time, it works. She puts a warm hand over the middle part of my face and I start a lip trill, which is like giving a raspberry to a baby's belly, but sort of singing at the same time. Weirder things happen in the name of opera, but this is pretty out there. I'm really focused and I'm using Aro's nearly impossible phrasing when it finally happens. My nose, my whole face even, starts to vibrate so much I just want to rub the skin there. Francesca's whole face lights up, and she starts shouting at me.

"Now don't stop singing but open your mouth and let it out there!" she yells, and I do. And is it disorientingly loud. Francesca does a fist pump, and Edward's glorious smile comes _very _close to distracting both of us, but I'm not letting this feeling go. Because it feels really good, and strangely easy, once I'm finally doing it right.

I start to feel dizzy, but I take a massive breath and just keep singing, this time using the words, and the sound is still there, the buzzing still there.

And it's so freakin' weird. I can't do the sensation justice; it's the opposite of belting—there's no forcing my vocal cords at all. In fact, my throat feels completely relaxed. And in some ways, it feels so natural I wonder why I haven't done this sooner. I've only got two more weeks until the competition. Well, better two weeks than two days, I guess. I hope two weeks is long enough to get used to doing it like this.

"Now that we've figured this out," she says, ever pressing forward. "We need to pick a new French aria for you. Michaëla's aria is not bad for your voice, but I happen to know that one of the judges is tired of hearing it in auditions, and it's easier to sing new technique in a new aria than an old one. Most of the time you just slip into old technique."

She goes through her father's files distractedly, obviously not entirely familiar with his system. After a moment she gives up and moves straight to the opera scores.

"Let's see... your French is pretty good," she says, eyeing me speculatively. "I want a show-stopper for you. Something with lush, with a good high note...I can see you as Manon. Let's see how the Gavotte suits you, shall we?" She writes the name of an aria down, and tucks it into my singing notebook.

"Very good work today," she says, and I feel warm down to my toes.

Very few things rival the feeling of a really good voice lesson.

"Thank you Francesca," I grin, kissing Edward quickly outside in the hall before we part ways for a few hours.

He's pretending to learn the organ this semester, but mostly it's to get access to the recital hall, so he can work on composing for that instrument too. Right now he's working on a variation of a Prokofiev suite, a piece so playful and devilish it reminds us both of Aro. Add in the complexity of a full organ and you get something I suspect no human could play. Just hearing it gives me chills, but watching his hands fly turns me on far too much. In fact, he mostly works on it while I'm in class now, because the last few times I've been anywhere nearby while he works on it, clothes just disappear and Edward ends up getting distracted.

Very pleasantly and nakedly distracted, but distracted all the same.

"See you tonight," I say as I pull away, unable to control my grin as he grabs me and pulls me back to him.

He takes my face between his hands and kisses me far longer than I kissed him.

"It's so good to see you smile like that again," he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine.

I wish he didn't look so relieved.

"A breakthrough voice lesson is one of life's greatest pleasures," I sigh happily.

"Greatest, huh?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

"One of... You really gonna give me some of those magic fingers tonight?" I ask, imitating Francesca's accent.

I'm not really angling for a back rub; I'm just being silly. Though, I wouldn't say no to Edward's hands on me, ever. He gets this wicked gleam in his eyes and leans in to whisper in my ear, taking his time and letting his hands roam over my arms, shoulders and neck so that by the time he starts with the sexy sweet-talking I'm already a hot mess.

"I am a model student," he whispers, his breath in my ear sending the most delicious shivers down my neck. "And I always complete my assignments, Signorina Swan."

"Ooooh," I moan involuntarily, earning several amused glances from passing students.

Fortunately, Edward doesn't glare at anyone. He just keeps staring at me until I blush and giggle nervously. I wonder if I'll always respond to him like that. The giggling, anyway. The blushing will certainly go away once I'm vamped.

"Tonight," he whispers, kissing me so sweetly I'm now filled with lust _and _butterflies.

When I open my eyes, he's gone.

I sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl and make my way to the big lecture hall for a lecture on Petrarch's lyric poems. As much as I'd love to watch and distract Edward instead, poetry is a fantastic way to spend my time. I'm pretty sure Marcus got involved with my class schedule on this one, because whenever he sees me in the library he asks me how it's going and we end up talking about Petrarch and his hopeless love for the unattainable Laura.

This is one of the few lectures that native Italian speakers and foreigners can both take, and every day I search _her_ out in the crowd. Ever since Demetri broke her arm, she generally ignores me, except for the first look of shock and disapproval when she first saw me alive and well. She muttered something under her breath that I couldn't make out. But she didn't ask me any more questions.

And I haven't seen her in a week.

I want to think that she finally took my advice and left Volterra. I'd like to think that it just took a few weeks for her to get her affairs in order, and that she left as soon as she could. Would a broken arm and a close encounter with a vampire be enough for someone like her?

The pleasure of the voice lesson all but evaporates as I start to obsess about her, seeing her face and the faces of the three humans who disappeared. I know it isn't healthy, but I can't get them out of my mind. Their smiles haunt me, blurring the words on the page in front of me until all I can think of is one single idea: _Did I do enough to help her? Is she okay? _

The poem in today's lecture doesn't help either; _L'aura et l'odore e 'l refrigerio et l'ombra_* is a poem I know all too well, and one that has come to hold a deeply personal association for me, thanks to vampires in general and Marcus & Didyme in particular. Petrarch wrote it about his Laura's death, and it gives me shivers every time I read it, particularly the part in which the poet begs for death to aid him against death.

I stare at the page as the familiar words and images sink into my mind and soul, giving form and meaning to my own uncomfortable truths as really good poetry often does. Everything I push aside, all the mystery, the death, and all the love that makes anything make any sense—all these things morph and grow in my mind, like something vibrant, lush, and lyric. In my mind, the words change, and the cool shade belongs not only to the long-dead man who thought of them, but to the very underworld of Volterra as well, and to those perfect creatures who not only refer to themselves as dead, but to so many are the face of death itself.

Something in me objects to this characterization, at least for the Cullens, no matter how the words and descriptions fit: I could never think of Edward as dead, no matter what his temperature, and he certainly isn't death. My thoughts bounce obsessively from wondering about the missing woman to the poem until I feel the shadows of death and mystery seeping up from the ground like vines in a cemetery.

When the class lets out, I find myself wandering in a disturbed daze until a familiar face jolts me into reality.

_Speaking of obsessions..._ There he is, lurking in the shadows, looking like a stereotypical vampire out of a delightfully trashy novel: kind of handsome, kind of sleazy, vaguely tortured, possibly interesting if you didn't have Edward Cullen at home_. _But I do, so he's out of luck.

He perks up when he sees me, his dark eyes searching my face.

"Go away, Demetri," I mutter automatically, wishing I had a wooden stake. Wishing a wooden stake could possibly work.

"I want to talk to you," he says, looking frustrated. "You could be nicer to me."

"There's nothing to say." Except maybe "fuck off," but I'm trying to be civil.

"Come on, be reasonable, Bella. I did you a favor, remember?" he asks, his tone hypnotically smooth. "I thought we were beyond this hostility."

He may have a point, but I don't like his tone. I just walk by, refusing to look at him as I pass. If he insists on using the hypno-voice then he gets to meet my shield.

"I can make you listen to me," he says angrily, stopping me in my tracks. I turn and glare at him, and he looks instantly contrite. "I could make you listen, but I don't want to. It would be easier for me and probably preferable to you if we speak here instead of me waiting for Edward to go hunting at night again."

I turn, glaring at him, but he looks too determined to back down with just one dirty look.

"I know things," he says, his lips curling at the corners. "Things I guarantee you want to know. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

It's such a vague statement. He could mean anything, and I can tell he's up to something. There's only one thing I want to know that he could possibly tell me, and I'm pretty sure that isn't on his mind.

"You want to talk?" I ask, anger rising in my chest. "Fine. Tell me what happened to that woman."

He pauses, looking slightly shifty. Okay, it's Demetri, so he looks completely shifty, but slightly moreso than usual.

"What woman?" he asks innocently.

"Right," I nod. "I'm done listening."

"I didn't do anything to her," he whispers furiously, blocking my path. I notice he doesn't touch me. He never does, unless I agree to it, now that I think about it. "I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to her."

"What did happen to her?" I bite back reflexively. His eyes darken with shame, and I put my hands up. "No ... forget I asked. I _really_ don't want to know."

The words sound horrible, but I don't think I can handle it. for the first time in my life I start to understand why Renee doesn't open certain kinds of mail. All the same, I feel something inside just isn't right. It's like some secret part of me is starting to splinter and crack under the weight of too many secrets, and things I have no control over are making me feel horribly guilty anyway. I know, logically, that none of this is my fault, but part of me still feels wrong for not struggling against it. Part of me _does_ struggle against it.

"Why do you care about what happens to them, anyway?" he asks dismissively, reminding me of his innate cruelty. "There's no need for you to concern yourself with how the Volturi enforce the law. Besides … you, Bella, are far more important than that troublemaker."

He probably thinks he's paying me a compliment by making me an exception. All I know is that if I had a sister who had disappeared, it would take a lot more than a broken arm to get me to stop trying to find her.

He tries to come closer, but I step back into the sunlight, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Don't," I say, wrapping my arms around my waist as I walk away. "Just leave me alone."

"That isn't what I wanted to talk to you about," he calls after me.

I do not look back.

#**~oЖo~**#

It takes me a while to get home, partly because I need to clear my head before I can do anything else.

Although I'm not technically Catholic, or even religious, I find some of the churches in Volterra oddly comforting, particularly if one is either empty or close to it. I generally avoid the Duomo because it makes me feel like a tourist, but the smaller churches are usually quiet enough. The _Chiesa di Saint'Agostino _is close to my afternoon appointment, so I go in and light a candle, leaving a Euro in the collection box. The statue of Mary just beyond the candles seems to approve, so I find a spot in a pew and try not to think too much about the cracks in my calm.

There's a chill that has nothing to do with the weather, and I feel the fissures of doubt deep with in me. I wonder if I can turn into a vampire before anyone actually changes me, or if I'll just turn into a pillar of salt and blow away in a whisper of Aro's breath, or the incessant Volterran wind.

Four of the candles have already been lit, and my only company is an old nun saying the rosary. She prays it in such a quiet whisper that the only things I hear from where I sit are the slight hissing sounds whenever she gets to an _s_ or _ch_ sound. The language may be different, but the rhythm is familiar enough from my childhood, watching Grandma Swan handle her worries in the same way. Nothing I've seen so far makes me believe in anything beyond my senses and sense itself, but it's peaceful here, even if it's a borrowed peace. I think about one of Jasper's meditation exercises and stare at the candle flames until everything else seems to fade but the flame itself.

It doesn't solve everything, but when it's time to go to my appointment, I at least feel a little calmer.

The seamstress Francesca recommended to me gives me my final fitting in the dress I bought online. I was plenty happy with it as it was when it arrived, but I have to admit that spending a little extra money to get it tailored makes a significant difference in the overall effect. Once fitted, the dress goes from looking pretty to kind of glamorous and _va-va-voom_. The final adjustment only takes a few minutes, and I end up getting to take it home with me.

When I finally make it up the stairs, I can hear Edward furiously working through some variation of the Prokofiev, so I try to be as quiet as possible. Plus I kind of want to surprise him with this dress when it's time for the contest. Alice says he's going to flip out when he sees me in this dress. The thought makes me smile.

He sniffs delicately, still playing.

"Mmmm, you bought silk?" he asks hopefully. "Is it something fun?"

"It's what I'm wearing for the competition," I inform him. "So you're not allowed to rip it—at least, not till after."

"I have to wait two weeks to see it?"

"How did you know what it's made of?" I ask, avoiding the question. Now it's a silly game, but one I'm kind of determined to win.

"The scent," he says, playing a playful chromatic ascent so delicately it sounds like a music box playing somewhere nearby, maybe through an open window across the street.

"The what?" I ask incredulously. "But it's in a garment bag."

He shrugs, eyeing the bag speculatively.

"What else can you smell?" I ask, sniffing the top of the bag where the hanger pokes through.

I can't smell anything but the light hint of synthetic whatever that the zippered garment bag is made out of.

"Incense, the kind they favor in churches around here," he says, misunderstanding my question. "Have you taken up religion, or was there some music in a church you wanted to hear?"

"It was peaceful," I murmur. "I was just inside for a few minutes … you can really smell that on me? Wouldn't the whole 'singer' thing overwhelm other scents?"

He gets up and walks to me, raking his eyes over me and sniffing more.

"A cat rubbed up against your leg," he says, running his hands over my leg in the exact spot where the cat was."A black one."

"I had the dress fitted, and the seamstress has a cat. How did you know that?" I ask, impressed. "About the color, I mean—wait, do colors have specific scents?"

"No, but she left some hair on you," he says, lightly brushing off my pants. My very black pants.

He sniffs closer, surprising me with a swift, probing kiss. His tongue lightly sweeps a path in my mouth, and feels only accidentally sensual. Quick as he is about it, I still shiver, and his eyes widen in appreciation. He licks his lips, and I lean into him automatically.

"You've been drinking water with spearmint leaves in it, and you had some cinnamon-flavored tea today sometime after lunch, after which you brushed your teeth thoroughly. And, you had an espresso not too long ago. You'll be up all night," he frowns, disapprovingly.

"Should I go brush my teeth?" I ask, covering my mouth. The seamstress had, in fact, given me some coffee while I waited for her to finish my dress.

"No, don't mind," he says. "Mostly you taste like you. Besides, I like being able to taste these little hints of how you spend your time away from me. It makes me feel closer to you."

"You are such a stalker," I laugh, though I belatedly realize that while I'm only teasing Edward, someone is kind of stalking me. I wonder if Edward can smell him, too, even if he didn't touch me.

"You aren't upset, are you?" Edward asks, frowning at the change in my expression. "I didn't follow you or anything. I just notice things."

"Of course not," I assure him, reaching up to caress his worried face. "I'm just jealous. I couldn't stalk you if I wanted to. I'm way too slow."

He keeps trying to look in the garment bag, so I take it over to the wardrobe and hang it up, slightly unnerved to feel him right behind me.

"Would you stalk me if you could?" he asks in a low, curious voice, snaking his arms around me in a lame attempt to lift up the bottom of the bag. I grab his hands and redirect them to my waist, trying to shove him back with my tush. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't move, but there are some interesting developments as a result.

"Hell yes," I sigh as his body presses into my back. "Number one, I owe you one, or you owe me a pass on it. Number two, I could watch you all day. I'd totally watch you hunt. I keep imagining it, and I think it would be either sexy or scary or both."

He stills, and I hold my breath. For all of our time together, he's still incredibly cautious with me physically. Whenever our lovemaking gets a little wild, he tends to go a little crazy the next day, apologizing unnecessarily and checking me for bruises. During the act itself it often seems like he's watching out for any sign of pain or discomfort, and I think it limits us as far as what kind of positions he's willing to risk. I tilt my head back, trying to encourage some baby steps out of our comfort zone.

"It would be scary all right," he whispers, kissing my neck as his hands wander up to cup my breasts. "That kind of activity needs to wait till you're a vampire, love. It's too dangerous if I'm hunting and I catch your scent."

His kisses move to the back of my neck and down, getting bolder.

"You taste," he says, licking the skin right along my spine, "so divine, right here. Every time I think I know all of you, physically, there's something new."

I shiver violently, moaning as he kisses whatever parts of my back and shoulders my top will allow. I brace myself against the wardrobe, pressing my ass against the growing bulge in his jeans. This is definitely new territory for us, and I'm in. His hands slip under my shirt, quickly releasing the front clasp of my bra. I can both feel and hear the low rumble in his chest as he teases and fondles, his mouth exploring the surprisingly sensitive erotic zone of my back.

The moment my whole body feels like it might just burst into flames, he stops. STOPS.

"Breathe, Bella," he says. "I need to feel you breathing."

"That feels incredible—don't stop!" I cry out in frustration, suddenly desperate to get my clothes off.

I start undoing the buttons, but it proves to be entirely unnecessary when someone finally responds to the blaring green light I'm giving him and my clothes start flying off, seemingly on their own.

"Sorry," he pants, continuing to kiss and lick all over the skin of my back. "I had to bite something."

I really like these pants, so I manage to undo them before he can destroy those too, now that he's going with the mood. As soon as they drop one of his hands moves down, slipping underneath the fine mesh fabric while the other hand reaches across my torso in an impressively skillful grope, using his arm to tantalize as well as his hands, his body forming cool, sensual spirals all over me, like some vampire sex tornado.

I claw ineffectively at his jeans, chanting all kinds of inane combinations of "Edward," "please," and some noises that I don't even recognize, let alone understand. I don't think I've ever been this turned on before, and from the way he keeps rubbing against my back, I think it's the same for him.

"Bella," he moans, his mouth moving against the back of my neck even as he quickly unzips and kicks off the obstructive garment. "Is this okay? I mean, it sounds like you want this, but if you think you might change your mind—"

"I'm better than okay," I interrupt, snaking a hand between us to stroke the part of him that seems to have no qualms about this whatsoever.

I don't know if he was going commando or what, but now all that's between us are my barely-there panties from the Alice-is-a-genius collection. If vampire cock can rip through this flimsy material—and I don't know why it wouldn't— we're about to find out.

"Bella, wait," he says, though his hands go right back to where they were before. "Maybe we shouldn't do it like this. Shouldn't—"

"Why not?" I ask, confused. "You feel so good."

His hands are making me crazy, and I cry out, arching my back against him instinctively. There's a tug as the mesh gives way. I turn my head to glance at him in wonder, and our mouths meet so naturally it almost seems choreographed. I ride out the delicious waves he keeps making by stroking, rubbing, licking, and kissing several erogenous zones at once. I'm not sure exactly what I'm doing besides writhing and kind of blindly groping him, but I think it's working, because he starts panting. His cool breath against my back feels wicked and divine all at once.

"I shouldn't treat you like this," he pants, sounding pained.

"I like it," I sigh encouragingly, and he curses under his breath as I arch my back. "Besides, you promised you'd work on my back."

_That_ gets a laugh, and more sweet kisses on the back of my neck.

"I'd say that this isn't at all what she had in mind, but I'd be lying."

"Francesca Bini is a genius," I say before making some truly embarrassing noises.

"I told myself I'd never take you like this," he says, but he's so full of it, because he's completely into it now. "Like we're some kind of animals. You deserve to be treated with respect."

I laugh, because he's clearly insane. I feel like I've got to convince both the vampire who doesn't want to hurt me and the Edwardian prude who surfaces every now and then, concerned with some antiquated idea of what it means to be a gentleman.

"You can respect me by just going with it," I argue, smiling at his lust-crazed expression over my shoulder. "I'm pretty sure animals have got something going on here, and I really, really, really, _really_ don't want you to stop."

"How will I know I'm not hurting you?" he asks, pressing his hand on my back until I'm bent over and feel his cock pressing into me.

He pushes in and, holy fuck, have we been missing out.

I think he feels reassured, either by my screaming "yes" over and over, or by the fact that our bodies seem to know exactly how to do this. He holds my hips, making almost as much noise as I do, for once, and it just drives me even more crazy. Every now and then I'm able to glance back at him, and the glorious anguish on his face tells me he's still holding back, which is probably for the best, because I'm not completely sure this isn't going to hurt later. By the time he calls out my name and stiffens against me I'm just about to pass out.

"You okay?" he asks against my ear, smoothing my hair back.

"Perfect," I pant, turning my head to smile and kiss the worry from his eyes. "Thank you."

"Thank _me?_" he asks. "For what?"

"For trusting us," I say, turning around in his arms. "Like I said, Francesca's a genius. I don't think I've felt this relaxed since we got here."

Edward's musical laugh fills the apartment, and all the warmth I need is in his cool embrace.

#**~oЖo~**#

"I'm not wearing this coat back here the whole time, Edward," I hiss under my breath, glaring up at him. "You're being completely unreasonable."

I guess I should have made Alice clarify when she said Edward was going to flip out when he saw the dress. He flipped out all right—but for some reason, instead of the lovely dress I see when I look in the mirror, he seems to see something so indecent it has to be covered up with a barely seasonal coat.

"You need to keep warm for your voice," he says, keeping his arm around me. "It's cold back here, and you're up next."

I swear, the way he's hovering over me, I'd almost rather he just go ahead and pee on my leg to mark his territory. Unfortunately, or fortunately, vampires can't pee, so I get the helicopter treatment: lots of hovering.

"I don't know what has you so worked up, but could you stop glaring at everyone?" I ask, leaning my forehead against his chest. "I need a little comfort, not you making me even more nervous."

Edward stops glaring at a humming, pacing baritone and looks at me for what seems like the first time since we left the apartment.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking a little sheepish. "What would make you feel better?"

"Just hold me and tell me I'm ready for this?"

He kisses me very sweetly on the forehead, peeking under the coat.

"Of course you're ready for this," he says, kissing my nose, then my mouth. "You're so ready for this it didn't even occur to me that you'd need reassuring. And I'm only glaring at those who think you're naked under this thing. They deserve it."

"That's it," I announce, taking the damn coat off and folding it under my arm. "It's your fault if they thought that anyway. It isn't even a sexy dress. It's just a flattering fit in a flattering color. Nobody's going to think anything of it."

"Blasphemer," he mutters, tracing my neckline with his cold, unyielding fingertips. "You look like the everything holy and good in this world, and everything tempting, too."

"Keep sweet-talking," I say, only with a tinge of sarcasm, and fortunately a lady sticks her head out of the stage door to put me out of my misery, calling my name.

I take a deep breath and a swig of water and follow her out on to the stage, hearing Edward's heavy footsteps behind me. In the unnatural stillness of a nearly empty theater, all of our shoes together sound like taps on a war drum, and I'm giddily aware that our feet have locked into a rhythm. There's a bright light on me, and the concert hall is much larger than I had imagined it to be from the narrow, dingy hallway backstage. The light blinds me to the point that I can't really make out much in the audience besides three outlines in the middle—the judges, I assume—plus a few figures on the periphery.

Time begins to warp uncomfortably in the few steps out to center stage, and my senses feel exaggerated. I fight the urge to run away, reminding myself that this whole thing was my idea.

_Zen_, I remind myself, trying to imagine Alice, Jasper, and Francesca in the audience. I wonder if Aro is here, and if he has any influence over who wins. The air feels so charged it crackles, and I focus on keeping upright, and the creaking of the piano bench under Edward's weight.

I introduce myself and Edward, and announce my selection: the Puccini from Turandot. Francesca had told me that all the judges for this competition are Italian and that they would probably be insulted if I didn't choose it. The whole time I'm singing, it's practically an out-of-body experience.

I lose myself in the song the moment I begin to sing, and all of Francesca's advice feels less like a laundry list of tasks than some key to letting my voice fill the entire hall. All of my fears of reverting to old technique seem silly, because at this moment I feel such a deep connection to the music and to Edward through the column that it's no longer acting, it's just _being_. I feel so close to Liu, the character, that for a moment she is not only my mask but I am hers, as we both beg for what we want, humble slave and human as we are.

When the song ends I still feel the air crackling around me, but with something more than my nerves. I still feel connected and pulsing, and I hear an unfamiliar masculine voice call out for the Gavotte, just as Francesca predicted.

I allow my whole affect to change when Edward starts playing, and show them a complete contrast of mood, language and character, all while keeping the column pure and keeping the sound flowing just as powerfully as before. I let my mind fill with images of young French girls and do my best to imagine myself as one of them, feeling the pleasure of youth bubble up through me like a fresh spring.

It's not quite as good as singing in front of a big crowd, which tends to reflect whatever you put out there, but it's not bad either, and when the last notes of the piano fade away I feel my face flush hot as I thank the judges.

I barely recognize that they've said anything to me, but rely completely on Edward to make sure we're not exiting the stage prematurely.

Thanks to handy vampire tricks and mind-reading, we take a walk in the still-cool spring air while the last few contestants do their thing, returning just in time to be counted for final judging.

It takes the judges about 15 minutes of discussion before a thin man with a thick mustache calls all the candidates into the recital hall for the announcement. His Italian is incredibly rapid, and I only understand half of what he's saying.

I try to remain calm, but my grip on Edward's hand seems to alarm him sufficiently enough so that he disentangles himself and instead puts his arm around me, whispering "Calm down, you won. Just don't look relieved yet, or everyone will think there's cheating going on."

I don't quite believe it until I hear my name called, followed by the sparse smattering of applause over sighs of disappointment and condolence.

I close my eyes, turning into Edward's embrace. Relief and excitement course through my veins like too much caffeine, but underneath that there's the main question of the prize. Three months of touring Europe. Exposure. A vampire in public life, even if it is the limited public life of a classical musician. It was both Aro's idea and against his law, and whether we can go will be entirely up to him.

"Do you think Aro will let us go?" I ask Edward.

"We're working on it," he whispers.

There's a shadow in his eyes that makes me wonder what it will cost us.

#**~oЖo~**#

Aro acknowledges the victory with a giant, somewhat bizarre-looking bouquet of goldenrod, birds of paradise, and white geraniums, essentially a little bit of congratulations and a whole lot of indecision. Alice herself seems to be indecisive about something, but I don't hear what it's about until a few days later when I'm running errands in the sunshine, and she calls me.

"Bella? Don't say my name!" she whispers quickly. "Act like I'm someone else."

"Hey ... man, what's ... up?" I ask, feeling like a total moron.

"I didn't say act like _you_ were someone else, Bella."

"You caught me off guard!" I protest.

"Look, never mind. I called you for a reason. There's something you can do that would really help everything, but it's kind of weird and maybe a little risky."

"You definitely have my attention," I say, a little nervous and a lot curious. "How risky,exactly?"

#**~oЖo~**#

_***L'aura et l'odere e 'l refrigerio et l'ombra (Petrarch, Poem 327)- "The air (a play on the name Laura) and the odor are the cool and the shadow"- **__**This is an amazing poem, in my opinion. If you're interested, you can find it here:**_

_**www(DOT)classicitaliani(DOT)it/petrarca/poesia/petrarc8(DOT)htm#CCCXXVII**_

_**and a fairly good translation here, with the caveat that Camilla10 gives the following comment on this excerpt:**_

_**www(DOT)poetryintranslation(DOT)com/PITBR/Italian/PetrarchCanzoniere306-366(DOT)htm#_Toc12011579**_

**_[EXCERPT] 327. 'L'aura et l'odore e 'l refrigerio et l'ombra'_ The breeze, the scent, the coolness and the shade**

_**of the sweet laurel and its flowering aspect,**_

_**a lamp, and resting place for my weary life,**_

_**he who empties the world has wholly taken. **_

_**"I think it should be "**_**she who empties the world has wholly taken" - but let me try to give you the exact meaning and you can try to make it meaning is that Laura, by dying, has deprived the Poet of all the beauty of the world (the laurel, the shade, etc.) and with her passing, the world is now an empty place. The rest of the poem is correct"- Camilla10**


	33. Queen's Gambit

**Ch 33 Queen's Gambit **

**Thanks to NelsonSmandela for the beta and Adorablecullens for the reality check. I love your guts! As always, love to Algie and Feisty. Camilla10 should probably be sleeping now and may correct some of my Italian when she sees this (mi scusi!), but she did say that **_**Stregone Benefico**_** is the proper spelling/grammar for one singular nice vampire. **

**A huge thank you to all of you who read, review, recommend and/or tweet. It's better than crack, and surprisingly legal.**

**Chapter Music & Video**

**Prokofiev: from **_**Scythian Suite**_**, "Pursuit of the Evil God"**

**http://www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=5jt-54HwINc&feature=related **

**Le Balze, Volterra**

**http://www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=-eIxant6lzc**

**(also, for visualization purposes)**

**http://tinyurl(DOT)com/28jktq8 **

**Disclaimer: SM owns twilight. I just come into her house and play with her puppets, because she seems to be cool with it, even when I get a little turpentine on a couple of chapters now and then. **

**~oЖo~**

**The Queen's Gambit: a classic chess strategy in which a player temporarily gives up some control of the board in order to obtain freer development. (wiki'd) **

**~oЖo~**

"Bella? Don't say my name!" Alice whispers quickly. "Act like I'm someone else."

I glance around, but nobody's paying attention. It's early afternoon, and there's too much sun for vampires to be out on the street, but .

"Hey ... man, what's ... up?" I ask, feeling like a total moron.

"I didn't say act like _you_ were someone else, Bella."

"You caught me off guard!" I protest.

It's true; Alice usually doesn't talk to me without talking to Edward, too, and they've been bordering on paranoid when it comes to the security of our chats. They won't tell me any details, but I think they're getting worried about Aro finding out who and where they are, since it's clear he's suspicious that we're not entirely on our own.

"Look, never mind. I called you for a reason. There's something you can do that would really help everything, but it's kind of weird and maybe a little risky."

"You definitely have my attention," I say, a little nervous and a lot curious. "How risky, exactly?"

"A little," she hedges. "You'll have to be very brave."

"Meaning Edward won't like it," I observe.

"You know how we've been waiting for one of the Volturi to make a mistake?" she asks, ignoring my obvious observation.

"Yeah, and you guys say that they don't make mistakes."

"They don't," she says. "Until tomorrow. We may not get another chance."

My heart starts racing, thinking of the implications of Alice talking to me outside of Edward's presence.

"I know, Bella," she says, preempting my objection. "Edward tries to protect you from everything, and Aro's been taking advantage of that. Now it's your turn to protect Edward. Aro's setting him up for something pretty bad."

"I'll do it."

**~oЖo~**

It's very early when the sound of a door opening in the hallway wakes me up. I tiptoe quietly out to see Edward standing at the door talking to a male vampire I've seen once or twice in passing but don't really know. The soft, barely-there sounds of their whispers fill the hallway. In a blink, the visitor disappears, leaving me with a very troubled Edward. A shadow crosses his face as he sees me, and he hands me the note. I read it, hearing the words echo in the memory of Alice's voice as she told me what would happen. I know even before he tells me that he has very little choice in the matter.

"It's Aro," he says. "I have to go. I owe him."

"Oh? How long?" I ask, unable to disguise my curiosity. "And when did you start owing Aro extra favors?"

"Alice said it would be a good idea," he says evasively. "I'll try to be back tonight before you go to sleep."

While I'm glad that this particular favor is about as much of a surprise to him as it is to me, I can tell there's a lot more he's not telling me, some burden hanging over him. It's been this way for a few weeks now, since Aro's "test." It's really not hard to connect the dots between that day, Edward's mood, and this "favor" that has him leaving me alone, defenseless in a city full of vampires, save for what protection Aro has so generously bestowed upon me. Or at least, has Aro _thinking_ that's the case.

It eases my guilt a little, knowing what I know.

Edward looks at me strangely when I pull on my most comfortable jeans, a t-shirt, and one of his sweaters to wear, one of his eyebrows lifting as I put on some rarely worn running shoes. I mirror his expression, practically daring him to ask me out loud. It isn't wise of me, but I can't help it.

_He'll know anyway, _I think stubbornly, not that I was ever planning on lying to him. I steel myself against the thought, knowing that the outcome is worth his anger, the alternative unthinkable. _He'll know, and he'll just have to forgive me._

"What? If you're going to run around Africa with supermodel vampire ladies, then I'm going to be comfortable, at least. And this sweater smells like you."

He says nothing, but wraps his arms around me, breathing in my scent.

It rains all morning, a rumbling, flashing spring storm, and the mostly ancient walls and buildings of the small city seem darker, even older somehow as a result. Edward walks me to school in the near darkness and stops in front of the big wooden doors, reminding me to call him if I need him, or Alice if his phone should be out of range. He seems so reluctant to leave me, even for a few hours. We keep trying to say goodbye, but he keeps lingering. I'm pretty sure his reassurances are more for himself than for me. It reminds me of something Alice said on the phone.

_Reassure him, or he'll come up with an excuse to stay behind. If he's anywhere near Volterra today, this will all end very badly_.

"Alice will be watching out for you," he whispers softly, kissing me beneath the shelter of our oversized umbrella. "Do me a favor and keep your phone on."

"Such a control freak," I say, smiling at him. "I'm the one who should be worried, not you. Go, hunt with the pretty ladies, but don't have too much fun. I have my magic V to protect me, among other things. What do you have to protect you from your admirers?"

"I can run faster," he offers, with a sly grin. "Plus, I'm only doing this as a favor to Aro, since Sulpicia wanted to try for something a little more exciting than barn animals. The others tend to behave themselves more when she's around."

I narrow my eyes at that vaguely disturbing statement, but refuse to pursue it.

"I trust you. Go, make nice for Aro," I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. "Then come back to me."

He glowers a moment at my necklace, and I pretend not to notice while smoothing a tuft of his hair, for all the good it will do in this wind. He holds the door to the school open for me, and I wait as a young man with a violin case walks into the building, passing briefly between us.

"Bread and butter," I whisper reflexively, in accordance with the schoolyard superstition , and in that instant I have one of those moments where my mind seems to take a snapshot. I know instinctively that I'll always have this image of Edward, in the rain, looking more achingly beautiful than any work of art. "See you soon. Happy hunting."

He kisses me again, and with one forlorn glance backwards, disappears into the rain, his hair the only hint of color in an otherwise gray moment.

During the poetry lecture the building shakes with the vibrations of the storm, thunder cracking only a few seconds after a flash illuminates the tiny windows of the classroom. The instructor jokes that all poetry should be read during storms, and I agree. There's something inherently intensifying about both the storm and the words when combined. When the storm breaks, I start walking around town, noting the weird effect the change in weather has on the bricks and pavement as the cool weather dissipates with the clouds.

The streets of Volterra steam in the sudden appearance of the early afternoon sun, giving the wet streets the appearance of a pot of water about to boil. I close my eyes, and try to think of everything that needs to be done. Immediately, my heart starts racing, and I break out into a cold sweat. Too much at once —I get overwhelmed, and have to start over again. One step at a time, just like anything else, right? I can do this. What's the first step? I look around and find-

_Take your usual route, and look for a cafe with a green door and white curtains. _

-green door, white curtains. I check my phone nervously one final time, and adjust my book bag as I go into the small cafe, as instructed.

Once inside, I feel numb, like it's someone else moving, someone else acting, and I am only peering through my eyes, a passive observer. It helps to think of the cafe as just another stage, and my part as just another role.. There's an empty table near a window facing the street, and somehow I'm sitting there, with a book open in front of me. and my eyes scan over the page without taking in the words, the text floating in my mind, incomprehensible black bars and swirls in a blank sea.

I order a jasmine tea, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. I stare at my book some more and try to run through the list again, surprised at some point to find my tea on the table. Somehow it's there, in front of me, and I do not drink it, but feel vaguely comforted by the sight of the steam as it rises from the surface of the tea, the hot cup in my hands. The warmth and the steam anchor me, and the numbness starts to fade.

I hear them before I see them, the two men talking as their shadows cross the semi-frosted glass. One of them has a local accent I can easily make out, while the other's voice has a deep, rough quality to it, with an accent I can't really understand, but suggests an origin far south of here. They are talking about something mundane, I think. They speak too quietly for me to understand their conversation, until I hear the phrase I've been listening for: ..._momento in cui consegnamo il pacchetto... when we deliver the package. _

_He's a planner, Bella, _I can hear Alice saying. _Very reliable, very precise. He'll be the taller of the two._

And now I begin to know a little of what it's like to be her: the déjà vu as they enter the cafe, their clothes and hair, even the way they move, it's all there. I am vaguely surprised at how ordinary they seem ... how human. It seems unnatural now to fear anything, any_one _so breakable, but I know what these men are capable of. They seem so normal, so graceless. The more time I spend with vampires, the more humans begin to seem like ugly, uncaged animals, and none moreso than these two. I watch them covertly for a moment, hiding most of my face with my book, my hair, my posture.

One of them orders an espresso, the other a beer. I wonder what their last meal was, if they enjoyed it. I wait a couple of minutes before walking up to the counter to ask for my bill, in such a way that they can't help but notice me, the gold from the V in my necklace shiny and glinting, nicely offset against the deep green of Edward's sweater. Once I hear them fall silent, feel their eyes on me, I don't do anything else to call attention to myself, just gather my bookbag and start walking.

I break every one of Charlie's rules, walking alone, wearing headphones, being lost in my little world, refusing to make eye contact or to be remotely aware of my surroundings. I try to shrink into the shadows, turning down a lonely street with few lights and almost no foot traffic. I make it as easy as possible for them, pretending to be absorbed in my music, even stopping to play with my iPod as I ignore every natural instinct in me that says _run, hide, fight. _It's almost comforting that my body gives me so many warnings as they approach.

The afternoon sun is behind me, and I watch their shadows growing larger and larger, like monsters in a dream. _Ignore them. _

Edward's face looms in my mind, an incentive to keep going. My jaw locks in determination as my legs seem to want to run in spite of the fact that they are too close, the street too deserted for me to do anything about it now. Instinct overwhelms me, and I look behind me as I feel their hands grip my arms. One of them grabs my hand, hurtling my phone to the street where it breaks against the bricks. I feel the panic well up in me as my only tangible lifeline lies in several useless pieces, and an irreversible chain of events gets set into motion. I close my eyes, reminding myself what's at stake.

_Edward and Demetri will fight no matter what, Bella. I've seen it. He can win if it's one-on-one, but he can't take Jane._

The scent of wet Cypress trees hits me as time warps around the moment, and it takes all the will I have not to scream bloody murder against the warm strong hand clamped over my mouth. They don't have far to carry me, and I give a good show, struggling against their grip on me and kicking as hard as I can.

_They'll kill him._

I manage to land a few good kicks in while I'm doing it, too. At one point, their hold loosens and the shorter man tackles me to the ground before I can run more than a few steps.

"_Attenzione, stronzo!" _the taller one commands, so low and hushed I can barely hear._ "Careful, asshole! He said no blood." _

My arms are pinned to my side as I'm shoved into the back seat of a tiny car, the shorter one holding me immoble using only his body. To an outsider it might seem like we're making out, and by the look in his eyes he seems to be considering it. I make a muffled sound of protest, and again the tall man barks something at him.

_"Che importa?" _he asks, his coffee breath right in my face. _"What does it matter?"_

They argue, and this time I don't understand their exchange at all, but the man holding me seems to, and to my relief, his amorous expression dies away. Instead he looks at me with curiosity, like he's trying to understand my life. It's ironic, because when I look at him, all I can do is imagine his death. In reality, he is healthy; but my mind's eye already sees him rotting away, the flesh falling from his face to reveal the skull beneath.

I keep struggling for form's sake, yelling against the hand on my face until the tall one, the driver, catches my eye in the rear-view mirror. His intelligent eyes take in my apparent panic, and he relaxes slightly, probably worried that I've already heard too much. In spite of their actions, a stab of pity hits me, and I wonder if Stockholm Syndrome can possibly set in after five minutes. The empathy echoes in his his eyes, and he curses again in some southern vernacular. I understand only the last bit of what he's saying.

_"Just shut the fuck up, and do what you're told."_

As the man holding me relaxes, I tense even further, eyes still locked with his. Now that all of this is really happening, I care more about what's going to happen to them than I'd expected. I don't want them to die, no matter who they are or what they've done. It isn't a play; this isn't a role. They're real, flesh and blood, and not just the kind of anonymous thugs I had imagined. They're someone's kids, maybe even someone's father. I wonder how long they'll be missing, if their bodies will ever be found. I wonder if they'll have graves and someone to cry over them. I start hyperventilating a little bit, and a big tear streaks down my face and over my captor's hand.

It's too intimate a moment, and he looks away.

_After a few turns you'll come to a long stretch of road._

I see from the position of the sun that we're headed northwest, toward the Balze, the famously treacherous cliffs and thickly wooded hills popular with camping tourists, and therefore thirsty vampires as well. With a well-rehearsed slump, I feign unconsciousness, allowing my body to go completely limp. I hear a few surprised grunts as hot, sweaty hands probe my neck and wrists. Fortunately, he has no idea what he's doing. If he did, my racing pulse would give me away. He curses in some idiom I don't know, finally getting attention from the driver's seat.

"Put a mirror under her nose," the local orders, panic evident in his voice. "What did you do, idiot?"

I keep my limbs noodle-like as the vise-like grip on me disappears when my captor goes in search of a small mirror. They finally find one in my own book bag, and with considerable relief I am pronounced alive.

The car stops, and after a moment I am lifted out. I can feel the sun's warmth on the side of my face, and I use it to orient myself, thinking of a clock. Alice's voice comes to mind, crystal clear in my memory.

_Run about five minutes north of the sun, straight into the woods._

The moment my feet touch pavement, I surprise my captors, sprinting off into the assigned direction, toward some relatively dense woods. I can hear their footsteps after a moment, but gaining on me as I near the trees. Adrenaline kicks in and I dart instinctively under a low tree branch and into the lush green foliage. My legs stretch out and down as I run, the air whooshing pleasantly through my hair as some thick bramble whips across my ankle, catching on. I don't let it trip me, but muscle through and feel it rip from the ground, trailing my feet for a few steps before it falls away. I feel uncharacteristically graceful and strong as I run, letting branches thwack my pursuers as I focus on getting closer and closer to the cliff's edge. Between the trees I can just make out the ancient stone wall someone erected to prevent people from accidentally falling off the sudden drop, and where the wall disappears from erosion or theft, a metal barrier takes its place.

I just need to get a little closer. I pump my legs harder, but the noises behind me get louder and louder until my foot catches in some heartier undergrowth, sending me sprawling to the ground. My palms and knees sting a bit from the impact as I cushion my fall, and the sweater snags in a thorny bush.

"Where do you think you are you going, little one?" the tall one laughs as he catches up, sweeping me into what might look to anyone watching as a lover's embrace. "Don't you know where we are? You'll run yourself off a cliff if you're not careful."

"You're making a huge mistake," I tell him, in what I hope is calm, sensical Italian. "You have no idea the kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into."

The shorter one catches up, and he laughs when he hears my warning. He says something I don't even remotely understand, and now they're both laughing. The tall man's chest rumbles against my back.

"You think that V on your neck will protect you?"he asks, amused, craning his face to see my reaction. "Such things don't scare me. Not anymore. I'm one of them."

"Liar," I argue, and his eyes flare. "I know you're not. And I know you won't draw any blood."

"You know nothing," he spits, but his bravado flickers unsteadily.

"I know everything. I know who hired you, and believe me, you're in even bigger trouble than he is."

That gets his attention.

"Trouble?" he asks suspiciously

For a moment I wonder if I've said the wrong thing entirely.

"Think about it. This necklace is a sign of protection. The man who hired you probably threatened your life if I was harmed in any way, right? He's setting you up, can't you see that?"

"_Basta_!" He attempts to shut me up, his eyes hard.

_I know you'll want to save them, Bella, but they've already chosen their path. _Alice's voice echoes in my mind, but it seems wrong not to try.

"You're both fools if you think he'll let you live," I tell them. "Please, let me go and save yourselves."

"Maybe they're tired of you. Maybe you're inconvenient now,"he responds, giving up part of the pretext, but still holding me firm in his grip. "Maybe they want you dead?"

"Then kill me," I say calmly, calling his bluff in his own language. "If they want me dead, I'm as good as dead. If not, listen to me, and get out of here before he comes."

Not that anyone who comes in contact with the famous Volturi tracker can ever truly be safe again. An eerie silence falls over the two men, and I decide to press my case anyway. If all goes as planned, Demetri will most likely have higher priorities than killing these two, but only if they get away first.

"Didn't it chill you to the bone to speak to him?" I press ruthlessly. "Didn't your hair stand on end to breathe the same air?"

The taller man says nothing as he holds me even tighter in his grasp. I think my ribs might break, and it takes everything I have in me not to struggle. His partner looks completely unnerved.

"_I mostri, stregoni_," I whisper theatrically, playing the only card I've got left. "Some say they are monsters."

"That won't work. I don't believe in monsters,"he says, but his arms drop, letting me go. I don't even move.

"Please," I beg, from the depths of whatever I am, with all that I am. "Please, save yourselves."

Something like recognition dawns in their eyes as they realize I haven't stepped away from them. They look around nervously as the air changes perceptibly around us. It takes me a moment to figure out what it is, but then it hits me: all the birds have fallen silent. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and from the look of them, they feel it too.

_There will be a moment when you can run or stay. It's up to you, Bella. If you run, you'll feel guilty. If you stay, you'll see horrors in your dreams for as long as you're capable of sleep. _Good thing I don't plan on sleeping for much longer, because I can't take more guilt. Now I'm the one holding their arms, as if I'm enough to protect them from a demon.

"_No_!" I plead, talking blindly into the shadows, hoping he'll hear me and change his mind. _"Don't do it, just stop it now_—"

But it's too late. A flash of pale skin and dark hair whips between us to reveal the Demetri I first met: the hideous, angry, growling creature of my nightmares. The cultured, charming Demetri of Volterra is nearly unrecognizable in this state, his nostrils flaring, eyes glowing with thirst and menace. While the three of us humans have been knocked to the ground with his first attack, only two of us come to our senses fast enough to avoid the second. The taller Italian and I scramble in opposite directions as Demetri crouches over the struggling body of his prey, solid and unyielding as a mountain.

"Demetri, don't! Please, don't," I beg, and his head swivels in an otherworldly manner until his demonic eyes meet mine. He seems to be struggling, his lips forms my name, but all that emerges is the kind of feral sound you only want to hear in movies, or at the zoo. Whatever he is when he talks to me in public, it's barely there now.

_This, _or something like this, is what Edward's been warning me about all along. It's what Alice means when she tells me I'll understand later, when I've changed. It's what Aro means when he speaks of their superior, yet vicious nature, and why I can't be anywhere nearby when any of them are feeding. It's not just about me and my delicate human sensibilities. It's about them, and what they become once the blood begins to flow: cruel, unyielding, monstrous, and god-like. And all I am is blood and guts, waiting my turn.

"_No_!" I scream louder, furious and helpless as Alice's worst vision of this comes to gruesome, gory life.

I see the red arc of liquid in the eternal instant before I feel its wet heat on my face. The scream echoes, sustaining far beyond my control of it as I taste copper and realize that human blood is in my mouth.

_Your first, _a sinister voice inside me says, and somewhere in my shock I realize the screaming has stopped.

My eyes widen as the head of the shorter man rolls on the ground, his torso impossibly far away, arms still flailing as his blood spurts out in a grotesque parody of a fountain. The taller man looks on, frozen, his face twisting into an unreal mask of shock and horror. A monstrous Demetri hovers over the dead man's neck, drinking his blood in some sort of blood frenzy, his nostrils flared and his face alight with sensual ecstasy.

"_Run_!" I yell to the taller man, as loudly as I can, and it seems to jolt him out of his trance. Unfortunately, it also jolts Demetri, whose face jerks in the direction of the running man. I sink to the ground, helpless to stop this. Helpless to save anyone. Demetri is a blur of violence, and Alice was right all along.

I hear screaming again, but it's no longer my own. His deep baritone heightens to the tenor register, and the stream of his cries die in a final, gurgled rasp.

_Run, _Alice yells in my mind. _Run now!_

I do, closing the distance between me and the cliffs, now bathed in the golden light of the glorious Tuscan sunset. I take one last look at the headless corpse of the shorter one and immediately wish I hadn't.

_Just go behind the wall, where the wind can mask your scent. _

I lick my finger and hold it up, trying to feel the direction of the wind. My finger just feels cold, and I panic for a moment as I can't tell what it's doing, or which direction I need to follow. My hair catches in a gust of air, and I follow a lock as it points toward one side of the big stone wall. In a few steps I clamber over the metal barrier and scramble across the short distance to the ancient stone wall behind it. There's a narrow, verdant path along the other side of the wall, with only about a few feet of ground to walk along, narrowing visibly where the cliffs begin. The wind roars in my ears and blinds me as the foot of ledge turns into half a foot, and the wall seems less and less of a sturdy support and more like it's going to push me off at any moment.

"Bella, where are you? Come back!" Demetri yells, sounding nearly human again. "Bella! I won't hurt you!"

He's shouting now, looking for me, but the wind won't help him find me now. It only carries his cries to me as I edge along the wall, arms outstretched and feet uncertain.

_"_Bella!" The voice disappears, as he seems to go into the woods in the opposite direction. It's the only reasonable direction I could have gone, after all. But how long until he gives up, till he returns?

My blood turns to pure ice, but somehow I'm still moving along, refusing to look all the way down until I find the slope she had promised me, less steep than the rest of the cliffs and full of small shrubs, roots and vines. I start the descent slowly, hoping —_knowing _that the roots will hold me, because she promised they would. The slope itself would probably be safe enough by itself if it weren't for the wind.

_When the time comes, let go_. _You'll know when._

But I don't know, so I cling on, tangling my legs in the roots and holding on with a death grip, trying to wipe my mind of horror, and failing. Every time I close my eyes I see death. Opening them isn't much better.

My skin stings and burns in several places; ankle, palms, knee, and hands. I try not to think of it, try not to think of the blood in my mouth or the bile in my throat, and will myself to only think of Edward.

I fail at this, too, as a trickle of crimson spirals down my arm, trembling and halting in the wind along the way. And I see not just this thin stream, but all the blood, again, all of it. I choke and sputter on the bile as it rises, and my ears ring with a sound like an ocean, although I am far from any shore.

After all this, I'm going to faint? Like hell I am.

_Be right, Alice, please be right about this. Please let me be strong enough to hold on. I can't let him down. They're counting on me to hold on, _I chant silently as my body begins the slow, awful process of betrayal.

It's just like those presidential physical fitness tests in grade school, when you're supposed to hold on to the bar, and you wait your turn trying to remember how well you did last year and if you can hold on longer than anyone else. So you you hold on, and it's fine at first, but then the pain comes, so you ignore the pain, and then the numbness comes, and the little _fzzz_ of electricity that shoots through your numb fingers right before they disobey and the blood rushes to your face as you drop, way before the other kid does.

It's like that, only this time there's certain death on the other side and a slight chance that Demetri could find me if I'm not very, very quiet.

My fingers tighten, and my knuckles turn white. I welcome the pain and shut my eyes, only to open them as I see nothing but an endless loop of the head rolling on the ground and the arc of crimson as it spurts in my direction. I open my eyes until they water from the wind, looking around for something other than blood to stare at. Too scared to look anywhere else, I turn toward the brightest thing in my world, and will myself to hold on as long as I have to.

The setting sun blazes gold as it sinks, relentlessly in time to a different rhythm than my own troubles, and I stare above it, to fluffy clouds in candy colors, and birds flying in the distance. I feel the slight current on the surface of my numb skin, and know, deep down, that it won't be long until my will meets a much stronger force.

Another flash of gold, closer by, and I feel my arms weakening, my muscles no longer obeying my command.

_When the time comes, let go. You'll know when._

"Let go, Bella."

A new emotion engulfs me as I surrender and let go. I fall for a just an instant, falling free, into the sunset, straight into the arms of the original _Stregone Benefico. _

"I've got you," he says in that calm, authoritative voice of his, and just like that, he does.

The wind surrounds us and I bury my face in his neck, breathing in his pleasant, clean, unfamiliar scent. I can't place it, but it will probably remind me of hope and sunshine from now on.

"You're here. She said you would be, she promised, and you are." A fresh sob of joy and relief breaks free from some clean, whole place within me. "Thank you, Carlisle."

**~oЖo~**

"I failed," I confess, tears pouring freely down my face as Carlisle helps me clean up in a restaurant washroom closer into town. "They wouldn't listen. I should have tried harder. I only saved myself in the end."

"Alice tried too," he says soothingly, searching my eyes. Probably for dilated pupils or other signs of shock. "We all did, trying out suggestion after suggestion. No matter how it played out, those two men would be dead by midnight. I'm only sorry you had to witness it."

He holds his arms out to me, and I am unable to refuse the reason, logic and comfort he offers. I step into his embrace, pouring several months' worth of tears and anxiety into his shirt.

"I'm so proud of you, Bella," he murmurs against my hair. "You did more than anyone expected, except maybe Alice. You've done everything I could ask from a daughter. Now when are you going to make an honest man out of him?"

"Someday, soon I hope," I sniff, laughing at him. "I was kind of hoping to do it as equals, you know? After the change?"

"Kids today," he shakes his head, looking at a text message when his cellphone buzzes.

"It's time to go to Aro?" I don't really know much about this part of the plan, other than it involves the court.

"Unfortunately, we don't have much time." he confirms, quickly cleaning the rest of the wounds with stinging alcohol swab, followed by an even worse sting of the liquid bandage. "I'm sorry it hurts, but we have to go now, and you can't go underground while bleeding."

"I'm not worried about the pain... Does he know?" I ask, more than anxious.

"Which he?" he asks, the corner of his mouth curling slightly. "I can think of a few who might concern you."

"Any of them, really, but I was thinking of Edward." Determined not to flinch as he tends to the last cut, I breathe steadily through it, flexing my ankle as he disposes of bloody tissues and washes up. "As much as Aro scares me, it's your son I'm really worried about."

He cups my chin in his hand, and I gaze into his kind eyes.

"_Dum spiro, spero_, Bella. Do you know what that means?"

"While I breathe, I hope?" I ask. I've heard it somewhere before.

"It's sort of my motto as a doctor," he confirms. "A little modified for my situation of course, as I don't need to breathe. In this case, you breathe—I have hope. Are you ready? There's more to be done."

I nod, bracing myself.

**~oЖo~ **

**A/N: Yeah, so, I felt kind of bad for Bella and for some of you who have told me how intense Canzone has been for a while. I even wrote a different, softer version of this chapter, but it truly sucked and just wasn't right for the story or characters at all, so I went back to the original idea. There will be some happy times too, and soon, I promise. **


	34. The First Trial

**Chapter 34 The First Trial  
**

**Thanks to the lovely NelsonSmandela for the beta, to my chat buddies, and to all who read, review and recommend. I love you guys, and I didn't mean to imply that the freaked-out people were overly critical. Sometimes I freak myself out and I totally understand. I love you when you get freaked out and I love you when you tell me that the intensity is good, so freak you out as much as I like, woo! No, I'm not drunk. **

**Special shout-out to Mothlights for hosting the readalong on Twitter, and to MTK for all the readalongs! **

**Chapter Mood Music**

**I had a really hard time getting the right music for this chapter, but I listened to **

**Osvaldo Golijov's "How Slow the Wind" while writing it.**

**I highly recommend the studio recording from Golijov's album **_**Oceana**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, but I do own an EPOV outtake of chapter 31 (Surface Calm), posted under my profile with the others. If you're wondering what the sam hell Edward was doing for Aro, it might be of interest to you. **

**~oЖo~**

"We're not going to Aro first," Carlisle informs me, testing the last white bandage before putting his medical supplies away. "But we are going to the Volturi."

As he moves away from me, I notice my reflection in the small mirror of the small restaurant bathroom. At first, I don't even recognize myself. My face is covered in pale clay and blood, and my eyes look red from crying. Clumps of my hair look matted and filthy, and a long vine of ivy got tangled in it at some point. I look utterly shocking, almost inhuman. I wash my face and try to smooth my hair as best as I can, but one of the rubies is missing from my Volturi necklace, and my clothes are completely unsalvageable.

"Should I change clothing?" I ask, frowning at the blood and dirt that will surely never come out. "I mean, going down there with blood on my clothes can't be a good idea."

"It's better this way," he argues. "Alice says we'll have an easier time convincing Caius if you show up like this, and they'll have something for you to change into."

My hands freeze as I try to get all the leaves out of my hair. That can't be right.

"Caius!" I protest, shocked. "No, no, seriously, we can't go to him with this, Carlisle. Caius hates us."

Carlisle lips curl in an amused, secretive smile as he guides me out of the restaurant and in the direction of the palace. His hand rests lightly on my shoulder as we walk, and I take great comfort from it.

"I wouldn't assume that he hates you personally," he clarifies, to my disbelief. "It's not you; it's what you represent—an exception to the rule of law. A threat to order."

"How are we a threat to order?" I ask, truly bewildered, although I have noticed Caius' general intolerance for even minor deviations from few laws the Volturi have.

"Knowing Caius, I imagine that he feels threatened by Edward's ability. Fortunately, in this case, the law is on our side, and we have another common interest."

"We have something in common with him?" I ask, almost offended.

"Are you doubting our oracle after everything that's happened today?" He asks, amused.

"Good point," I acknowledge. "Still...Caius?"

I can't imagine the sour-faced vampire ever helping us, unless it was purely coincidental. However, Edward did tell me once that Demetri had slept with every female vampire in Volterra except for Sulpicia and possibly Jane, so it's possible that he might relish any excuse for revenge.

"I had pretty much the same reaction," he admits. "But it makes sense if you know him. While it is true that he is capable of nearly unspeakable cruelty, I've never known Caius to lie or break his word. I don't think the Volturi would have lasted as long as they have if he hadn't insisted on that level of consistency. He understands the kind of balance required to maintain order, and Aro respects him for that."

I turn over everything I know about Caius uneasily in my mind, and we fall silent as I struggle to keep up with his long, swift strides. A low mist swirls close to the ground, a grayish purple in the late dusk, and a pale half-moon rests low in the deep indigo sky, like a ship at sea with no sails. I wonder if Edward can see it too, wherever he is. It's a slightly corny thought, but it's the only thing that could possibly connect us right now, so I cling to the idea.

_Forgive me, love. I can't live without you. _

Our footsteps sound obscenely loud to my ears, my breath ragged from the pace.

After what seems like the longest walk possible in Volterra, we get to the library. Since it's closed to the public at this hour we have to get in with the key, which I've got pinned inside one of my pockets. We finally descend the great spiral staircase in the library to find Caius engaged in a game of chess with Marcus. Caius does not look up from the board, but his face settles into a disapproving scowl the same instant Marcus seems to notice us.

A look of confusion mingled with distress cuts through the fog of Marcus' usual expression when he notices me.

"What has happened, Isabella?" he asks, with great effort.

"Carlisle? You are not expected," Caius observes, turning his disapproving glare at my clothing. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I did not expect to be here tonight," Carlisle responds grimly. "I'm afraid I am here to report a most distressing breach in our agreement by one of your guard. I wish I could wait, but the matter is urgent."

Both vampires stand so swiftly that had they been human, chess pieces would have been flying around the room. Caius eyes widen with anger and what looks like anticipation.

"What right do you have," he says, eyes narrowed, "to bring her here in this deplorable condition, to accuse and demand? It is not your custom to be so rude, Carlisle."

"I regret that it looks that way, but I believe the situation requires immediate attention," Carlisle replies, steely-nerved.

"I am finding your little family very disruptive," Caius complains bitterly. "I preferred it when you lived elsewhere, quietly."

..._or not at all, right Caius? _He doesn't say it in so many words, but it's clearly implied at the end of that statement.

"So did I," Carlisle agrees. "But we have an agreement with you which has been broken by one of your guard. This evening, Demetri willfully put Bella in danger, struck her to the ground, and fed off of humans in her presence. In doing this he broke our agreement on two counts, as well as defying Aro's direct order of protection."

At the mention of Demetri's name, Caius' expression changes minutely, the balance shifting slightly from outrage to rapt attention. He tilts his head, as one does when listening to something very faint.

"That is indeed a serious accusation," he says in a hushed, excited tone, before his eyes narrow. "Do you have any proof of this? That it was in fact Demetri?"

"We do. We have Isabella's testimony, and the clothing she was wearing when it happened. I believe you have a psychometrist here, if you won't take her word for it. My main concern is that Edward's natural inclination will be to attack Demetri, and that while the law allows all vampires to protect their mates—"

"The law," Caius interrupts, "as well as our agreement, specifically forbids Edward to attack any Volturi guard. A conflict in the law does call for an emergency hearing, I suppose." Looking around, he says in a louder voice, "Afton, come. I need you."

Within moments, Afton appears, his eyes widening in shock when he sees me.

"How may I help, Master?" he asks in a distracted murmur, sniffing the air. "Is that blood?"

"We require your skills," Caius informs him, ignoring his question. "But first, please clear the hallway near the library, and after you've done that, find someone to bring Bella some clean clothing. Something suitable for a legal procedure, please. And give word requesting Aro's presence the moment he returns."

Afton looks at me curiously, and swiftly disappears. After a moment, Caius turns to us.

"First, Carlisle, you must tell me how you came to be in Volterra."

"As you may already know," Carlisle begins, "Aro sent Edward on a hunting trip today to Northern Africa, when Sulpicia had expressed an interest in wild game. Edward was concerned about Bella, so, knowing I was back in Montpellier for a few days, asked if I would look in on her. Quite by luck I came on foot, just in time to find her bleeding, and in imminent danger from falling to her death at the Balze, near the campgrounds. She told me what happened as I tended her wounds, and we came here immediately. I wish to prevent the complete dissolution of our agreement, Caius. I wish to prevent any unnecessary violence."

"The court will decide how much violence the situation requires, not you, Carlisle Cullen," he says with chilling determination. "According to memory, you have always deemed all violence unnecessary, even when justice demands nothing short of it."

Carlisle says nothing, looking troubled.

"Do you wish to continue?" Marcus asks gently.

"I have no choice," Carlisle states.

"You have no idea how true that is," Caius observes dryly before adopting a more official sort of manner. "This is just a preliminary hearing. Now, Isabella, tell me exactly what happened. Do not lie, and do not exaggerate. If you do not know something for certain, do not guess. If Afton finds any discrepancy, your entire testimony may be ignored, and you will be punished. Do you understand?"

I nod, absolutely intimidated. I look up at Carlisle, who rubs my shoulder comfortingly.

"Just tell the truth, Bella," he says. "Start from the beginning."

I tell them about everything except yesterday's hours-long conversation with Alice in which we painstakingly went through as many variations as possible to ensure my survival. I tell them about the abduction, and about how they referred to the man who had hired them in such a way that I was certain it was one of the Volturi. Caius appears to be outraged at this, but Marcus just stares impassively, like someone watching the destruction of the Hindenburg for the hundredth time. When I get to the part in which Demetri sprang at the three of us, knocking us down like bowling pins, Caius looks livid, and Marcus seems even more tragic than usual.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Afton has returned with robes, but he's sort of lurking in the shadows, away on the other side of the three vampires who hang on my every word. Again, he reminds me of a sneaky, cunning animal, a trickster fox. He puts one finger to his lips for some reason, obviously not wanting his presence known, or perhaps he just doesn't want to disrupt my testimony. This seems likely, since the other vampires don't interrupt until I get to the part about racing toward the cliff's edge in my escape from Demetri.

"Do you recall any thoughts in your mind at this time?" Caius asks.

_Play dumb, but try not to lie. _

This is something I've been struggling with. I've had more than 24 hours to come up with a true thing to say, but I can't, so I just shake my head while trying to think. Shockingly, Caius readily accepts this as an answer before I can come up with anything better.

"That's your human nature," he affirms. "You probably weren't thinking anything at all."

Well, that's just rude. My knee-jerk reaction is to object to this, but Marcus surprises me even further by lightly placing his cold, papery hand on my shoulder.

"Do not worry, Isabella," Marcus soothes hoarsely, patting me in what I'm sure is supposed to be a comforting manner. "Humans tend to panic when attacked by our kind."

"It's the limbic system," Carlisle agrees, obviously much better at this lying-without-lying thing than I am. "The fight or flight response usually functions without much help from any logical decision-making process."

"Thank you, Carlisle," I narrow my eyes at him, but he finishes his thought, as if it just has to be said.

"It, um, saves time," he finishes, having the grace to look a bit apologetic.

This time I just shoot him a dirty look as my cheeks heat up. At this point, the door to the library shuts with a slight sound, and the others turn to see Afton appearing to have just entered.

"I hope I am not disturbing you," he murmurs, walking swiftly to my side, carrying a small, black velvet bundle. "I have some clothes for you, Isabella. They should fit."

I take the clothing from him, trying not to think of whose they might be, or might have been. It's fairly simple, a white cotton shift and the black robes all the Volturi wear. I go to the public restroom on the ground floor to change, and decide to just take off the sweater instead of all of it. I catch my reflection in the mirror and for the second time in an hour, barely recognize myself. Except for my obviously human features, I look just like them.

When I come back, the vampires are in deep discussion.

"Please give Afton the clothing you were wearing, Isabella," Caius instructs. "Your testimony. Please start from this morning and leave nothing out."

Afton places his hands on the soiled sweater, his eyes glazing over like some gypsy fortune-teller. I'm a bit suspicious at first, given his generally shifty nature, until he describes our closet perfectly.

"I am neatly folded, between a pine shelf painted white and a sweater made of the same material and knit, but different color. Blue."

My jaw drops in slight surprise. I had a general idea of what he did, but I had no clue he could be this precise.

"Female human, Isabella Swan, unfolds me at 5:30 a.m.," he continues. "I am pulled over human skin and a cotton/lycra blend short sleeved shirt, black."

At this, they all look at me, and I reveal the black T-shirt beneath the long white shift.

"I kept it on," I admit. "I didn't think you'd need it."

"I touch rain, hitting a large plastic umbrella," he says, after going through my morning routine. "Contact with the vampire Edward Cullen. I'll skip over his clothing unless you really want it?"

He looks at Caius, who shakes his head curtly.

"The back of a cheap wooden seat, humans on either side. Solid wood, painted red. Formica, black. Book, printed in 1935, high quality paper, Italian. Human male, age 28, rough hands. Human male, age 32. Fiat, indeterminate model from touch alone but the seats are black leather and made in 1990. Contact with various plants in the Balze. Contact with the ground. Violent contact from the vampire Demetri, of the Volturi."

I tune out for a moment as he describes the blood splash in way too much detail, wondering if he's exaggerating, or even lying to match my testimony. It had all happened so fast that I wasn't sure what had happened, since Demetri's attack did not go at all as predicted. Alice hadn't seen anything as horrifying as what actually happened, but I'm pretty sure that's my fault for staying. This is going even better than we thought it would, and Caius' eyes blaze with the satisfaction of someone who has just won a grudge match. That's when it dawns on me that Caius may love the law more than he hates individuals, but I think he _really _hates Demetri.

Common interest indeed. I sit down in a library chair and play with one of the white pawns Marcus has already captured in his game with Caius, trying to contain my excitement at this news of our good luck.

"...contact with more plants, again Le Balze , sunset. Contact with cliffs at erosion point, contact with the vampire Carlisle Cullen."

I hear the library doors open, and a quiet falls on the vampires. I can't see him, but the way the tension level spikes in the room to tells me it's got to be Aro.

"Carlisle! What a pleasant surprise, my dear friend." Aro sounds truly delighted for a moment before his tone shifts to that of affronted complaint. "No, not so much of a surprise. I should have known Edward would not trust me to have Isabella properly guarded."

"Aro, I would have preferred to make this visit one of pleasure as well," Carlisle says gravely, stepping aside to reveal me. "Unfortunately, I am here in a primarily official capacity."

Carlisle moves to my side as the other vampires part for Aro ... and Sulpicia trailing behind him, looking quite happy and fresh, her lips red and cheeks flushed as Edward's are when he returns from a hunt. But if she's here, then—

"Where's Edward?" I ask, panic making my voice louder than necessary.

Both of their faces turn grave as they fully take in my appearance and the bloody sweater on the table.

"Your pendant's been damaged," Aro says, glaring at the gold V just visible beneath my robe.

"So has your contract, and by extension, our reputation." Caius informs him, his expression carefully neutral. "I'll give you one guess as to who has once again decided that the rules don't apply to him."

"That idiot," Aro seethes, looking so genuinely angry it makes me think he must not have known. "Clearly he wasn't watching, as I instructed. What happened to you, child? Whose blood is that?"

Does that mean he _assigned _Demetri to watch me? Oh, that is not going to go over well. _Edward, where are you? _

"Where is Edward?" Carlisle demands impatiently as Marcus floats over to Aro, gently grazing the backs of their hands in silent communication.

Aro closes his eyes tightly in the first expression of anguish I've ever seen from him. It's oddly painful to watch, so naked in emotion.

"He said he had to go to Egypt for Aro," Sulpicia tells us, her lovely face etched with concern. "He said to tell you all he'd be three hours behind at the latest, and I've been back for two."

"Someone find Demetri and bring him to me, _now._" Aro says in this freakishly quiet voice that is quite possibly one of the scariest sounds I've ever heard. "Now I need a tracker for my tracker."

"Heidi usually knows where he goes," Afton says nervously before taking off like a blur.

"There are other trackers," Caius says, twisting the knife. "There are two in Italy alone who would be honored to join the guard."

"What do you mean, Caius?" Aro asks suspiciously.

"I mean that your tracker is out of control," Caius replies blandly. "If he is unreliable, he is of no use to us. I told you the last time he bent the rules, Aro, only this time it's worse, and you know it. He has gone too far, too many times. He has no respect for the law."

"Demetri did something to Bella, and while Edward was doing you a favor?" Suplicia asks, horrified. "Aro, he'll kill him!"

Aro seems to turn into a statue before me as Sulpicia wraps her hand around his, obviously deciding to communicate in a more private fashion.

"She's right, Aro," Marcus says in his ghostly voice. "It is the fundamental right of the vampire to defend his mate. Demetri can no longer be trusted."

"I will not be manipulated," Aro hisses, jerking his hand away from his his mate's touch.

"None would dare manipulate you, Aro," Caius says with a cold smile. "But we have laws, and they apply to everyone, or they apply to no one. We have a serious conflict between two laws fundamental to maintaining order among all vampires. The Volturi must punish Demetri before Edward invokes his right, his _natural and legal _right to defend his mate."

Caius' eyes flicker from Aro to Marcus, and then to Sulpicia in such a subtle but insidious manner that a horrible suspicion blossoms where once it was only a seed. Aro relaxes, becoming uncharacteristically passive.

"Of course you are correct, my brothers, my dear wife," Aro agrees with unnatural calm. "It is clear that I have given Demetri too much latitude for too long. He forgets his place. Forgive me if I find his betrayal of me—of all of us—quite shocking."

"Very well then," Caius says, as though Aro hasn't just had some weird sort of crisis before our eyes. "I call for the emergency trial of Demetri of the Volturi."

**~oЖo~**

Things have just begun to feel official, and upon Caius' declaration everyone seems to be in a hurry. Most of the vampires walk quickly from the library toward the main hall. I grip Carlisle's arm as we walk, because everything feels like it's going way too fast. At this point, Carlisle's driving the Alice train, because I don't really have any further instructions, other than to tell the truth and trust him. I'm mostly worried about Aro trying to touch him, but so far the question hasn't even come up. There hasn't been time.

_Edward, stay where you are. Don't come back too soon, but come back to me, please._

Aro, Marcus, and Caius appear from behind the dais wearing formal Volturi robes, and take their thrones as several vampires join us. I notice that most of the females from the hunting trip, save Heidi, have joined us, all looking deeply concerned. Chelsea arrives, also looking concerned as she takes her place at Aro's feet, like a cat.

"Where is Afton?" asks Aro, frowning. "We may need his testimony again."

"He went looking for Heidi," Caius answers blithely. "It doesn't matter; he was under oath during his prior testimony. That goes for the human and Carlisle as well, for that matter. We must act quickly."

"Demetri isn't even here!" Aro exclaims. "He must be here to defend himself. And anyway, we should wait until Alec and Jane return. I don't know what's taking them so long."

Yeah, well I do. Thank you, Alice.

"They should return soon enough," Caius replies. "And besides, Felix will suffice for an internal matter like this."

"Perhaps you would like to plead his case while we are waiting?" Marcus asks Aro. "Nobody knows him like you do."

"Demetri obeys me," Aro insists. "I know there are other trackers, but he by far the best in the world, and he must be given some latitude if his genius comes with a wild personality."

"You say he has obeyed you?" Caius asks incredulously. "You'll have to enlighten me, Aro. I know your tracker gets special privileges, but I wasn't aware that you had gone so far as to allow him to break your own contracts and our laws."

"I want to hear from Demetri," Aro says, scowling at the door. "I know he has made a mistake, but there might be a reasonable explanation. I refuse to allow him to be convicted _in absentia_."

"There is no reasonable explanation for breaking faith with a legal contract," Caius states rigidly. "As well as your own order. It is bad enough that you have created yet another human exception so soon after Gianna. You issued a direct order to the guard. Did you happen to give Demetri counter-orders that would allow him to abuse Edward's mate and feed in front of her?"

If this was a human courtroom, I think there would be a chorus of gasps at this point. I've never seen anyone question Aro this directly, in front of the entire court, no less. The hush, the vampire preternatural stillness seems unbearable as everyone waits for an answer, the vampires appearing not so much like models but like an enchanted statuary. Several dark eyes shift in my direction, and I become painfully aware that my own thrumming heart and shallow breathing must be the loudest sound in the room.

The silence is punctured—there's no other word for it—by the sound of the heavy double doors crashing open. For a moment I don't look, afraid that it might be Edward, but Carlisle squeezes my shoulder lightly, drawing me close as I hear Demetri call my name.

"Bella! I am so relieved!" His face and voice are all concern as he approaches me slowly, like I'm some skittish pony. "Where were you? I looked everywhere."

"Not everywhere," Aro says softly, looking at Carlisle curiously. "Apparently."

"What?" Demetri looks so upset I almost feel sorry for him, until I remember how he looked at me while he was drinking all that blood. His ferocity—he was like a beast, not a person. I reflexively cringe into Carlisle, and Felix quickly walks to intercept Demetri, whose strides slow to a standstill in the middle of the hall as he takes in the scene in its entirety.

"After you attacked her, drank blood in front of her, and frightened her into a panic, she ran in the wrong direction and nearly fell to her death," Caius informs him dryly. "She was clinging to some plants on the side of a cliff. Fortunately for her and for all of us who actually care to honor our contracts, Carlisle Cullen saved her from falling off of it."

"What is this?" he asks, looking around the room. His eyes settle imploringly on me. "Bella?"

_Not me. Look anywhere but at me. _It's not like I'm betraying him, anyway. He's the one who set me up; I just happened to know about it when it happened. I feel weird, anyway, because I look like a victim, and he's going down. _He deserves this. _

I close my eyes, but all I see is blood and a human head rolling toward me. It's beyond disturbing, but I don't feel nearly as guilty.

"Bella, is it?" Aro asks, his tone thick with disapproval at the sound of my nickname. "Demetri, Where is Edward?"

My heart feels like a bird trying to escape from its cage as I wait for the answer. He does not speak for a moment.

"He's just left Egypt. Libya now, moving very quickly toward the sea. He is ... much faster than I previously believed."

_Time. We have time. _I let out a shaky sigh of relief.

"Come here, my son," Aro requests quietly. "We must talk."

Frowning, Demetri approaches the dais, reaching out to touch Aro's hand with all the trust of a child reaching for its mother. It feels wrong, very wrong. I try to remind myself that I'm not the one who hired and murdered those thugs.

After a brief moment of contact, Aro closes his eyes, never letting go of Demetri's hand.

"You have failed me, Demetri," Aro whispers.

Demetri recoils as if bitten by a snake, shaking his head in confusion. This is starting to feel heavier to me than the average disciplinary committee.

"Wait, no. No! I can explain everything," Demetri protests, looking shocked. "I was guarding her, doing what you wanted, Aro. I was protecting her from the human men, but his blood spilled, and I lost control—you understand how that happens; it could happen to any of us during a hunt! I would not hurt _her_."

He turns to me, pleading, "I wouldn't hurt you, Bella. Tell them about the men, how they were trying to hurt you. Tell them!" by the end of it he's shouting, and my mouth runs dry, my heart beating so wildly that I feel like it's going to explode. I think Carlisle thinks so, too, because he puts out one hand and starts growling.

"That's quite enough from you, Demetri," Caius interrupts. "Isabella, Carlisle, and her clothing told us the _entire_ story, including the fact that these men were under the distinct impression that they were working for _us_."

At this, a surprised murmur circulates among the vampires, and Demetri once again looks at me, trying to read my expression.

"While I would love to find out how they came to believe that," Caius continues, "it seems that they are unavailable to testify. What is evident to me and entirely sufficient for the purposes of this trial, however, is that you broke the law, and your oath. You say that it could happen to any of us, but what you forget is that it only happened once you broke your word!"

"It was an accident!" Demetri insists. "You must believe me, I was only trying to get them away from her. I didn't mean for her to see what she saw, Bella, I'm sorry, please forgive me."

"May I remind you, that is what you said last time, and the time before that!" Caius reminds him, standing. At his full height and upon the dais, he reminds me of a statue of justice, full of cold judgment and austerity. "You wouldn't need constant forgiveness if you didn't ignore the rules every time they get in your way! Do you think we created these laws for our own amusement?"

"I never said that—" Demetri protests, but Caius' calm explodes into a cold fury.

"Do you think we hide our true natures from humans out of shame or fear?" he demands, full of righteous indignation. "Do you think we would hide for any reason other than to maintain order, balance, and a bountiful supply of healthy, fresh blood? You are full of youthful arrogance, Demetri. If you spent half as much time learning some of our history as you do chasing the wives of better men, you would know that every law we've made comes out of necessity, out of painful lessons learned."

It's everything I can do not to look at Caius' wife at this moment, but I keep my eyes trained forward, even as my cheeks flush with embarrassment for her.

"It comes from many millennia of trial and error," he continues, on a roll. "You do not appreciate the countless armies of newborns who squandered entire civilizations in their bloodlust, the violence and madness caused by open hunting, and the tainted blood it brings? Or ask Carlisle about how he found his sire, during one of the many times they organized and hunted _us _for a change."

Demetri looks utterly mutinous, and it looks like we're in for a fight.

"We don't have time for the history of the world, Caius," Aro interrupts. "Demetri, I have seen into your thoughts. We don't have time for denials. Why did you enter into such a foolish contract with these men?"

Hurt and, I think, betrayal blossom in Demetri's eyes as he exchanges a loaded stare with his master.

"She won't talk to me," he finally argues, gesturing in my direction. "He controls her, she's obviously terrified of him. What was I supposed to do? I had to speak with her."

"What?" I gasp, outraged. "Of _Edward_? You're delusional. I'm terrified of you, Demetri! Since the first moment we met."

"Then it's thrall," he says dismissively.

"Thrall does not work on Isabella," Aro informs him before I can respond. "I could have told you that. Obviously, I should have. I thought you would have noticed by now."

Demetri looks at me suspiciously, still apparently not understanding where he failed.

"Enough," Caius says impatiently. "Demetri has said nothing which excuses his conduct. He must be given the standard punishment."

I don't know what the standard punishment is, but several females cry out in protest. Carlisle stiffens at my side.

"I feel it is too harsh for someone of his talent," Aro murmurs. "After all, Isabella is alive, in spite of Demetri's mistake, which was unintentional. I agree he must be punished, but I recommend a lesser sentence."

"You are the one who wanted a contract with the Cullens, Aro," Caius hisses. "You cannot have it both ways. And when Edward comes back—"

"Edward can control himself," Aro insists. "He will have to."

"He would be within his rights not to," Caius insists. " You invite chaos with this leniency. We are at an impasse, as usual. Marcus, what say you?"

"The right to defend mate and coven is foundational to our law," Marcus says slowly. "It would be one thing if Isabella returned Demetri's interest, but the fact is, she has repeatedly expressed concern about this very issue. I told her to trust your order of protection, Aro, and it pains me to see that I was wrong. We must enforce this contract, but I am unsure about the punishment. While there are other skilled trackers, it would be a shame to destroy Demetri's unique gift."

_Wait, no ... destroy? _Is that what we're doing here? I quickly glance at Carlisle, who looks as stricken by this information as I feel. Of course I want Demetri to leave me alone, but shit, the guilt is going to kill me. And is it wrong to feel not only guilty that Demetri would get executed because of me but also guilty that Edward wouldn't get to do it himself?

"It is not my wish to see Demetri executed," he clarifies, concerned alarm etched into his handsome features. "I only wish to protect Isabella and Edward, and to enforce our contract."

"It is your right and your duty to complain about the breach in contract," Caius says. "We will decide the punishment, not you."

"It is I who decide today, Caius," Marcus says calmly. "And I would like to defer to the wishes of Isabella in this matter. What is it that you want, quiet Isabella?"

What do I want? Nobody has asked me what I want in a very long time, and I'm ill-equipped to respond right away. I don't think I can handle a decision of this magnitude, but everyone's looking at me, so I know I have to say something.

"What do I want?" I repeat the question aloud, and Marcus nods in his barely-there way. "I just want to make music. I want to feel like if I keep working so hard we'll actually be allowed to make a decision, instead of worrying all the time. Caius is right—it's making me crazy thinking that either I'm going to grow old and die here, or that Demetri's going to kill me, or worse, he's going to make Edward so angry that he'll attack him and get executed. I just want to do what we came here to do, but sometimes I wonder if that's allowed."

Sensing the room's attention on me, I turn to Aro, speaking low even though I know everyone can hear my whisper.

"I love Italy; I really do. It's the most beautiful place I've ever lived." Suddenly I'm exhausted, and I just start rambling like a maniac. "I love the sunflower fields and how beautiful everything is. I love the library, and I enjoy my lessons with you and my talks with Marcus. I feel horrible that Demetri betrayed your trust, but please understand that I love Edward more than all of that, and I'm so tired of being terrified of what's going to happen to us if we do anything wrong. Of course I want to live, and I really want to become one of you so I can truly be with Edward, but if we don't have an actual choice in all of this, if it's what you've decided to do and you're just playing with me, I'd really rather you just go ahead and kill me."

Okay, so that last part might sound overly dramatic, but it's how I feel in the moment. So far today I've had to wake up at an ungodly hour, been rained on, kidnapped, knocked down by a vampire, and I'm pretty sure I accidentally ingested some human blood. I witnessed two absolutely horrifying murders and dangled from the side of a cliff until my hands bled. I'll admit that getting rescued by Carlisle was kind of amazing, but then we had to beg _Caius _of all people for help, and it wasn't fucking pleasant. I'm covered in filth and someone else's blood, and if we're just going to be destroyed in the end I'd rather not face Edward's temper when he finds out that I did it all _voluntarily_. And I'm really lucky I didn't just say that last whole bit out loud, but I'm pretty sure Aro doesn't need his powers to guess my thoughts right now, because he's looking at me like I just kind of threw a tantrum.

I guess I did.

"That's all very interesting, my dear," Aro says gently, eyebrows raised. "But I think Marcus was asking if you wanted Demetri executed for what he has done to you."

"What he has done to us all," Caius corrects peevishly.

Feeling a little embarrassed about my outburst, I look over at Demetri, who stares at me with pleading eyes. I'm used to the look from him, but usually it's kind of fake, and I cannot bring myself to feel as cold as I usually do when he wants something from me. This time it's completely real. His fate hinges on a yes or no from me. Could I really have him ripped apart and set on fire? It feels utterly unacceptable to me to have this decision in my hands. It's too big. And it wouldn't be self defense, not right now when I am utterly protected.

"I just want you to leave me alone," I tell him. Then I think of Edward, and of Heidi. "But I don't want anyone to be executed."

Demetri's eyes soften in heartfelt gratitude which quickly turns into a searching, questioning gaze. I look away, wondering if I've just made a huge mistake. Carlisle's hand squeezes my shoulder in approval, however, and I feel a little better. There's an audible sigh in the great hall, and most everyone seems relieved. Certainly Aro. Definitely not Caius, however.

"How are we to enforce discipline, Aro?" he asks, livid. "If nothing ever happens to him? How do you propose to keep him from doing it again?"

"Where is Edward now, Demetri?" Aro asks.

"In the Mediterranean, nearing the shores of Pescara," he replies, with a tone of begrudging awe. "He even swims fast. At this rate..." he trails off, looking troubled.

"That is how we enforce it, Caius," Aro declares, coming back to himself. "Demetri, as much as this pains me, you are hereby exiled from the city of Volterra and from the presence of Isabella Swan, at least until she is changed according to the terms of our agreement."

Until I'm changed? I didn't see _that_ coming.

"Away from Volterra? From Bella?" he asks, looking incredulously from me to Aro and back again. "But it's absurd! It's unenforceable. I can't track her. I could very easily come across her by accident."

"She will be with Edward," Carlisle hisses. "Or with me. We may prefer non-violence, but do not doubt that will protect her from you."

"Or she will be in Volterra," Aro agrees. "Do not take this exile lightly, Demetri. You owe your existence to my favor and a soft heart, and after that you run out of chances. In order to rescue you from temptation, I'm sending you on a mission."

"As a Volturi guard?" Demetri asks, looking chastened, for once.

"Yes, of course. For now," Aro says. "But do not fail me, or I will change my mind, and your task will be more difficult if you lack authority. I want you to go to Ireland first. Contact me when you get to Dublin. I will let you know then what is to be done. Go now."

Demetri hesitates, looking at me like he wants to say something. I can tell he's looking at me, but I just stare at the marble floor instead.

"Do not talk to Isabella," Aro says venomously. "Do not even think of her, and do not go anywhere near Edward Cullen, no matter where he is. If it hasn't been made perfectly clear to you during this trial, there will be harsh consequences if you disobey the terms of this exile, even if the penalty comes from Edward himself. Do you understand?"

Demetri looks beseechingly at his master, but Aro's face betrays no hint of leniency.

"Do you understand, Demetri?"

"Yes." He barely utters the word, his gaze falling to the floor in front of him.

"Then go. Now. And do not fail me again."

**~oЖo~**

Carlisle somehow manages to greet Aro warmly without allowing any actual skin-to-skin contact, a quick embrace which scares me almost as much as anything else I've seen today. The unusual gesture seems to stun Aro as well, and he looks confused as Carlisle returns to my side. A few vampires move around, but nobody leaves. I'm guessing they don't want to miss Edward's grand entrance and whatever drama happens as a result.

"Isabella," a soft, feminine voice whispers behind me, and I turn to find Sulpicia approaching, Heidi close on her heels. Their arrival puts a healthy distance between Aro and Carlisle as Sulpicia takes her standard place near her husband's side. Heidi's lovely face looks unbearably sad, and she wraps her arms around me in a gentle hug.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, holding my hand. "Usually I can get through to him, but when Demetri gets obsessive, he doesn't listen."

I've always wondered what the story is between the two of them, and this just confuses me further. Anyone as beautiful as Heidi should have men falling all over themselves to impress her, but something obviously got twisted along the way for them. I don't know what to say to her that won't sound like something incredibly awkward, so I just settle for the truth.

"I'm sorry, too, Heidi. You deserve better."

Caius and Marcus haven't left their thrones yet, and after a slight tilt of his head, Aro moves swiftly to his throne. This seems to serve as a signal to everyone, and a preternatural stillness settles over the room, the various faces reflecting apprehension, or in some cases, anticipation. Judging from Caius' expression, he seems to think that Edward might break the agreement anyway. He probably won't be happy until someone's been executed.

I can't hear whatever they hear, but I can_ feel_ him coming. The only thing I can hear is my wildly beating heart until I hear his footsteps in the corridor, fast, heavy, and loud, like an approaching drumbeat. There is a pause in the sound, an incredibly long pause, and I know he's trying to control himself. My stomach flips. The doors burst open, sounding like a gunshot.

He is furious, and barely contained. The ominous rumbling of his voice sounds like distant thunder when he finally speaks.

"Where is he?" It's far more of a threat than a question. "Dublin, is it? Not so far away."

He takes several long strides into the room, his face taut with pain. His hand raises to cover his face, as if he has a horrible headache. I look for Jane, but neither she nor Alec seem to have returned.

"If everyone could please stop shouting at me in your minds," he says in that way-too-quiet tone he gets when he's trying to keep it together. "It's all very clear. Thank you all for the most illuminating explanations."

His eyes flash with anger as he finds Carlisle. Then his eyes fix on mine, and I can hardly breathe. I feel like someone just knocked the wind out of me. And then it's worse, because I blink, and he's right in front of me.

I stare at the floor until he ungently tips my chin up, forcing my gaze to his. For a brief instant his control slips, and I see more than the anger, all the way down to the raw hurt, betrayal, and underneath that, the fear. Yes, this guilt is definitely going to kill me.

"Edward," I whisper, trying to infuse the word with everything I feel right now, and he takes me gently into his arms, touching his forehead to mine with a ragged sigh. I'm sure it looks very romantic to everyone else, but when his lips meet mine they are uncompromising, and his tongue sweeps through my mouth in what I know is a blatant search for information more than anything else. After a moment, he jerks his head back in surprise.

"How did another human's blood get into your mouth, Bella?" he whispers, but I know everyone hears it, because there's another murmur swell, and Aro looks really intrigued.

"The same way it got on my clothes," I reply softly, not wanting to dwell on it. "It went everywhere. It all happened so fast."

His arms hold me closely, his cold hands barely gentle.

"Thank you for being there for Bella when I _couldn't_," Edward says in clipped tones to Carlisle, his eyes giving away no emotion until he continues. "But I really wish that I could have been there."

"It's a good thing you weren't," Sulpicia interjects, her voice filled with obvious warning. "You would have done what any of us would have done and have done many times, but it would have been your trial here today instead of Demetri's."

Edward pauses again, clearly listening to something or things. It doesn't take him long at all.

"I see," he says, his voice diamond-edged. "It seems that everything has been resolved entirely without me."

"Aren't you lucky?" Aro observes, obviously sensing a sore spot. "Everything has been taken care of, and all without you. We thought it best, under the circumstances. What with your infamous temper and all."

"_One little thing_," Edward replies, clearly referring to something I don't know about. "_Just this one little thing, and I would give you so much in return_. Is this what you meant? I come back to find that my mate has been not only poorly protected, but also terrorized and attacked by the very same vampire we both distrust most?"

"Be careful, my boy." Aro warns, leaning forward. "You wouldn't want all the trouble your father and girlfriend went through to circumnavigate your weakness to go to waste, would you?"

Carlisle tenses beside us, but Edward and I have already seen this game of Aro's too many times for him to fall for it, even now. Edward smiles coldly at Aro, bowing his head by a movement too small to be considered sarcastic, too large to be taken as insincere.

"Far be it from me to squander the efforts of those who have my best interests at heart," he says in a low, clear voice.

_He knows. _I wonder how long he's known. I know he had his cell phone stashed in a watertight container for crossing the sea, and I know he used it because I got several texts before my phone got wrecked. Aro's eyes narrow, and he looks at Edward while talking to Carlisle.

"I've always been curious as to how much a vampire can change when _properly_ motivated. Edward is a fine example of that, don't you agree, Carlisle?" The corners of his mouth turn up, and for the first time I see a hint of the genuine affection between the two vampires.

"Edward is a fine example, period," Carlisle agrees easily, not taking the bait. "I've never been more proud of him, no matter where the influence comes from. Speaking of which, I understand congratulations are order? Bella told me about the contest she won. The tour fits wonderfully into your plan for her."

_"_I'm not so sure," Aro says, though this isn't the kind of hedging I'm used to from him. "I had decided to let them go, but with Demetri in exile it might be better to keep them safe in Volterra for the summer after all."

I can feel Edward's breath in my hair, his arms around me, and I let myself sink into him as we take in this blatant lie.

"Oh, well, if you decide to let them go on tour let me know soon," Carlisle says smoothly, and it sounds like they're discussing tee time at the country club. "If so, I'll be around a lot more this summer, to help whenever Edward needs to hunt and so forth. I know Esme really wants to see them perform together. We were talking about bringing the whole family down to Rome or Florence."

It's all I can do to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor upon hearing this outrageous fabrication so convincingly delivered by someone so good. I don't know what's more disturbing—that, or hearing that someone as evil as Caius never lies. Maybe it's a yin/yang thing, where there's the black spot on the white half and vice versa, because otherwise it makes no sense.

"If my presence is no longer required this evening," Edward says quietly. "I would like to take Isabella home. I'm sure she's exhausted." He pauses and looks up at the three. "And just to be perfectly clear, with no chance of misunderstanding, if Demetri should break his word?"

"Demetri will do as I tell him to do," Aro insists.

"But if Demetri _does_ disobey you again?" Edward persists.

Aro looks uncertain, but Caius stands up, flashing a rare smile.

"If that should happen again, Edward," he says delightedly, "by all means, feel free to enforce the law as you see fit."

Edward nods, and it almost feels like an execution was ordered tonight after all. Out of the corner of my eye I see Carlisle's shock at this exchange, and I'm not the only one who notices.

"I wonder," Aro says in dreamy speculation, "if that moment comes, which way you will choose, Edward. Isabella, again, please accept my sincere apology for Demetri's behavior. If it makes any difference, he wasn't lying when he said he didn't mean to harm you today. It was evident in his thoughts."

I don't know what to say, so I just kind of nod.

"Carlisle, I hope this isn't the end of your visit?" Aro asks hopefully.

"That depends entirely on you, Aro," Carlisle replies, with more than a hint of sadness in his eyes. "As I said, let me know when you've decided."

We leave, taking the storm with us.

**~oЖo~**

"I'm not going to hit you, Carlisle," Edward growls, all the while glaring at me. Vampires apparently don't have to blink, either. "You're not getting off that easily. And you," he addresses me. "Tell me where you put the fucking computer."

The place looks like it's been tossed by a burglar while I was taking a shower, so I know the laptop must be safe in the same place I hid it this morning. I don't know whether Carlisle is trying to goad him into a fight as he has in the past to calm him down, but Edward only wants to fight with the one person to whom we owe our continued existence.

"Not until you listen to what I have to say." I may have to blink, but that doesn't mean I have to give in, either.

"Oh, I heard what you had to say," he seethes, the muscles in his jaw clenching. "_I'd really rather you just go ahead and kill me, Aro_. Really, Bella?"

"I was kind of hoping you wouldn't see that part," I admit, nervously tucking a lock of my still-wet hair.

"Are you joking? It was quite possibly the most replayed moment of the evening in everyone's minds. They didn't know whether to think you were brave, insane, or suicidal. There isn't a single vampire in the world who would have been reckless enough to say something like that to Aro."

"That one was all me, by the way." Not my proudest moment, that one.

"Clearly."

"As in, not Alice's fault."

After everything we've gone through, I'm not going to let him explode at her like this. It's not so much that she won't be able to handle it; hell, she's probably already seen what he wants to say to her in her head. Mostly it's because I don't want the rift between Jasper and Edward getting any worse than it already is. Fortunately, he can't call her on the phone to abuse her because he crushed it after she told him what we had done, and why. Now all he wants is the laptop, so he can unleash this rageball he's been saving up.

He reaches around on either side of me, ripping cushions off the couch. He's been through most of the apartment, but he's not going to find it.

"Give it to me."

"I know you're angry with me, Edward," I say stubbornly. "Let's just have it out."

Just then his eyes go blank for a second, and I know it's coming. Carlisle knows it, too, because he pulls me out of Edward's way, which just pisses him off even more.

"Son, please. If you need to vent—"

"I wish to fuck everyone would stop knowing so much about my fucking anger!" he bellows, bone-white and furious. "I get it, believe me. It's all of you who don't seem to fucking comprehend."

It probably occurs to him that he's kind of proving our point, because he starts pulling at his hair so much it alarms me. I want to go to him, but Carlisle holds me back, watching Edward very carefully.

"I'm not going to hurt Bella," he says, his voice shaking with emotion. "So you don't have to pull her out of the damned way, you arrogant prick. I learned my fucking lesson, okay? Nobody can tell Edward what's going on because he'll lose his mind and ruin everything with his category five temper. God! What is it you want me to do? Do you want me to punch something? Too late, I already did, when Alice told me. Yes, even that was managed for the best possible outcome. The puppet mistress herself called me and told me while I was still in Egypt so that I'd arrive in Volterra with perfect timing, having already spent my temper on moving at the speed of sound just to scare the fuck out of Demetri. Isn't that what we all wanted? Isn't everything just fucking perfect now?"

"Edward, you have every right to be angry," Carlisle agrees miserably. "I would be if I were you. But please, before you call Alice, let me explain. If there's anyone you should be angry with, it's me. Forgive me, son, but I had no other choice."

"You ask me to forgive you, but you keep manipulating me," he argues. "Alice doesn't need protection from me. She needs to get it through her dizzy little head that people can and do change their minds, and that the idea of Bella hanging from the side of a cliff, bleeding while Demetri's actively hunting her is not a reasonable solution to our problems. It's not a game plan. It's not anything remotely resembling a plan at all. _Anything_ could have happened out there, and she knew it."

"Alice came to me last week," Carlisle persists, approaching him carefully, with hands out. "She came to me, knowing how you were being set up and asked me what to do. It was bad, Edward, and it was going to work, no matter how we told you. I promise you, we tried every way imaginable to keep you informed, but Aro's plan was too good. She said that he had manipulated you into going to Egypt and that he'd keep pushing you until you had no choice. Then, when Demetri found out you were going away for a day and started plotting, Edward, just try to imagine what she saw. It would have worked on any of us."

"So every single one of you deliberately trampled on my will and put Bella's life at risk?"

"Not every one of us, just me, with Alice and Bella's help. Yes, I deliberately chose to trample over your will in order to save your lives. I begged her to do whatever she had to do, no matter how ruthless, to save you both, and quickly. Edward, I've seen Aro play this kind of game before, and the truth is, we're incredibly lucky to have Alice on our side."

"Edward, I'm okay," I add. "Honestly, I'm fine. I agreed to everything, in fact if I had listened a little bit better I wouldn't have seen the blood." Among other things.

The anger in his eyes seems to weaken, but he hasn't given up yet. I go to him, and this time Carlisle lets me. When I get close enough, he holds my face between his hands and kisses me gently, like I'm so fragile I'll blow away with a strong breeze.

"Why, Bella?" he asks, his eyes searching mine. "Make me understand this, because you're killing me with all this idiotic bravery. Please tell me. Make me understand."

"You already know," I tell him honestly. "Because you'd do the same for me, and you know it. The thought of losing you only makes me seem brave, but underneath it I'm a coward. I refuse to live without you. I hated keeping this from you, but I couldn't think of any other way."

Edward closes his eyes in frustration, and I lean in, kissing his cheeks first, then his lips in a silent request for forgiveness. He doesn't respond at first, but then he pulls me closer, letting me feel everything through the kiss: anger, desperation, frustration. I close my eyes, freely accepting all of it, trying to let him feel all the love I have for him in return. Eventually, I have to breathe, and break off for an embarrassingly loud gasp as Edward trails fervent kisses down my neck.

There's a knock on the door, and Carlisle clears his throat. I look up in surprise, having forgotten that he was still in the room.

"I'll just get the door," he says, looking a little stunned as he walks away.

My face heats up from embarrassment, and Edward kisses my cheeks before giving me a stern look.

"I'm still angry," he says softly, before grazing my lips with a feather-light kiss.

"We're both still here," I reply, threading my fingers through his hair. "I can live with that."

"I'm probably going to hover over you even more than usual."

"I can live with that, too," I say, but I might just be placating him for the moment.

"This came for you, Isabella," Carlisle says, handing me a long, flat box wrapped in white paper with a blood-red bow. "Aro sent it."

He and Edward exchange a loaded look, and I take it cautiously, unwrapping it as if it were a volatile substance. when I look inside, all I see at first is gold on white silk, and a note on Volturi paper. I breathe a little sigh of relief to see that it's just a new Volturi necklace to replace the one that got damaged at some point during the day. When I go to lift it, I realize that the chain isn't attached to the pendant, but snakes beneath the silk instead. When I pull gently on the chain, the silk moves, and I can see it's really a pair of long white gloves. At the end of the chain, in the palm of one glove hangs a massive diamond, the kind I'd never choose for myself if I had all the money in the world. I might pay ten bucks to see it on display in a museum, though.

The note contains only a few lines in Aro's spidery script:

_Dearest Isabella, _

_I hope you accept the new Volturi crest as a symbol of my renewed protection. _

_The other necklace will look stunning on stage when you go on tour this summer. _

_I look forward to discussing the details during our next lesson,_

_Aro_

"He's letting us go," I whisper, fingering the delicate chain on the necklace. "But I can't figure out what this means. Is this real?"  
_  
_"It's real, and it means he'll help us," Edward murmurs, frowning at the note. "And that your value to him has just increased. He's not given up on keeping us, not by a long shot."

"It worked," Carlise nods. "I know you're still upset, Edward, but I am very proud of you for controlling yourself under extreme provocation. I would like to talk to you about your plans regarding Demetri. I hope he listens to Aro and leaves Bella alone, but—"

"I hope he does no such thing," Edward interrupts with quiet ferocity. "Aro's not just sending him on any errand. If Demetri does what he's told, he'll be looking for recruits. Talented recruits."

"What do you mean?" Carlisle asks, frowning.

"It means if Demetri isn't trying to find Bella, he'll be trying to find Jasper, among others."

"That's even worse," I say, dropping the box in distaste. "What are we going to do?"

"Relax, Bella, it doesn't matter. Demetri won't get to either one of you. Alice obviously didn't tell you about this particular vision. We have to stop him."

He's talking to me, but looking at Carlisle. Judging from the look on Carlisle's face, Alice probably told him the same thing she told me. _Edward and Demetri will fight. It's inevitable._

"Either way, I'm going to kill him."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: ****So I've signed up to do the FandomGivesBack thing again, only this time I signed up in plenty of time (unlike last time, because I am a doofus). I'll be doing one auction for a chapter (of your choosing- doesn't have to be Canzone related if you don't want) and then an unlimited number of inexpensive shorties in which I will do whatever you want within reason (no rape or RPF, and obviously no spoilers). So, if you've always been curious about Heidi and Demetri and you want their backstory, here's your chance. You want Edward reading specific minds? You got it. Are you a Demetri fan and want to see the dirty boy in action? Say the word. If you just want a random lemon or sweet nothing for E&B, or want to see what's going on with Jalice and Rommett, I'll be more than happy to comply, and don't be shy, I love random prompts. If you love Aro and want him to give his opinion on celebrity gossip (I hate it, he loves it) that's cool too. OMG, just writing that made him perk up in my sick, sick mind. Can't you just see him with an issue of **_**US Weekly**_**? Anyway, I'll make another announcement when it gets closer, but I thought y'all would like to know. Let's kick some cancer ass!**


	35. Maze of Secrets

**Ch. 35 Maze of Secrets**

**Thank you to NelsonSmandela for the beta and to all who review. Thanks to AdorableCullens, for brilliance, both general and specific. **

**Sorry guys, I meant to get this out earlier, but RL had other plans. There was a stage, some loud singing, some boring but necessary stuff, and too many ideas all tangled up in too big a ball to get it out any sooner. **

**Chapter Music**

**"Toccata" by Khachaturian**

**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=Bfo4-CnJZQQ**

**Lindsay Thompson sings "How Slow the Wind" by Osvaldo Golijov**

**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=ditUHDJ1s1c**

**Lucia Popp sings "Mein Herr Marquis" (aka "The Laughing Song") from Johann Strauss' **_**Die Fledermaus **_

**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=c4ws6UmWMlo **

**Disclaimer: The Twilight, The Godfather, and The Operas I do not own, but you can own an outtake or drabble of Canzone if you want. Deets below.**

**~oЖo~**

The sounds coming from the piano wake me out of some deep, dreamless sleep like a thunderstorm, a surprise, since I don't remember falling asleep in the first place. The last thing I remember clearly is Edward telling me to go to sleep, stubbornly staying up, and then hearing a long story about Carlisle's previous time in Volterra. He spoke in such a lulling voice, I must have passed out at some point. Typical vampire trickery—I just didn't expect it from Carlisle. Carlisle...

Was here. Is here?

The events of the previous day come rushing back to me, and my sense of reality takes a moment to adjust. The whole thing really happened. The plan worked. Demetri is gone. Carlisle is or was around here somewhere. It's still dark outside. Since both of our cell phones are broken, I have no idea what time it is.

I touch my hair, and it's dry, so it's probably well after midnight, maybe even just before dawn. From the intrusive music, I can tell someone thinks I've slept long enough. And he is still pissed off.

The music is so percussive it kind of sounds like a jackhammer for a moment, and I wonder if Carlisle's still here. It's hard to say, but I have a hard time picturing Edward playing for _him_ like this. I slip out of bed and into the bathroom, barely noticing the silky whisper of my nightgown moving over my skin until I see myself in the mirror.

I look a little wild, and it's no wonder. I must have fallen asleep while my hair was still wet because it's absolutely crazy now, and I run a brush through it, checking over my bandages in the mirror. They're not that bad, but they make a striking contrast to the black and cream silk negligee I don't remember putting on.

Did he put me in this? Figures, since it's his favorite. Every other thing he eventually destroys, but with this one he always takes special care, and when I wear it I'm pretty much guaranteed whatever I want. Normally I'd think of the gesture as a peaceful one, but with the tone of the piano I'm thinking it's more like waving a red cape rather than a white flag. _Interesting_.

He must hear me, but he doesn't turn as I enter the living room. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the relative darkness, but when I do, the sight of him nearly takes my breath away.

He's alone, at the piano of course, wearing only black pajama bottoms. The long, lean lines of his bare torso glint silvery in the pale moonlight, and a sheer curtain flutters bewitchingly between us on the breath of a warm spring breeze. I want to touch him, but his anger slows my movements as much as his unearthly beauty pulls me forward.

Very rarely does my Edward truly resemble the vampire of my old imaginings—the shadowy, seductive creature from movies and darkly erotic novels—but in this moment... What was that word that Demetri used earlier? _Thrall_. I think maybe Aro was half right. Thrall from most vampires doesn't work on me; that much is true; but Edward seems to be as much of an exception to me a I am to him.

He is completely enthralling, and I move toward him not so much by my own will, but more as if pulled by an invisible cord.

"Go back to bed, Bella." He sounds wary. It doesn't match his playing.

I hesitate, my feet frozen mid-stride.

"You woke me up, remember? I don't think you _want_ me to sleep right now."

He doesn't respond, except for the playing. I take my time approaching, admiring his beautiful hands and the gloriously hypnotic workings of the muscles of his back as he pounds out his frustration into the music.

Desire coils in my belly as I finally reach him, and I lean in to whisper in his ear.

"You're still angry," I say softly, peeking at his profile. Furious. Livid. Sexy as hell. "And yet you dress me in this."

"I wouldn't let you sleep naked," he says flatly.

"Liar," I tease, letting my hair spill over his shoulder, because I know what that does to him. "You let me sleep naked all the time."

"It was the first thing I found." He turns his head sharply to glare at me, but his eyes rake over me for just an instant before he returns his focus to the piano again. "Angry isn't the word," he says, a little too calmly. "Don't."

"Don't what?" I ask, pulling back. "Don't touch you?"

He doesn't say anything.

"I'm surprised the keys are holding up," I whisper. I let my hands slide over his shoulders, taking in the cool expanse of his back, and the odd combination of textures that feels firmer than flesh, but more animated than marble. "What would you say the right word is, then?"

"I said _don't_," he hisses, and flinches from my touch, never missing a note.

He's never pulled away like this before, and it it makes my stomach tighten with unease. I want to ask him why, but I already know.

"You have no idea what it was like," he complains bitterly, not looking at me.

"I think I know exactly what it was like," I say softly. "I was so scared, Edward. I heard what _would_ have happened, in graphic detail. Alice told me everything."

"It's clear you don't understand. _That's _what I mean," he says, not looking at me. "It kills me, Bella. Knowing you chose Alice over me."

All the breath leaves my lungs in a silent _whoosh_. At least for me it was silent, but Edward must hear it, because his eyes snap to me.

"Is that what you really think?" I demand, hurt. "How can you even think that, let alone say it?"

The music stops abruptly as he simultaneously traps my hands in his own, a move which presses me flush against his back as he inspects the bandages on my hands and arms. I shiver against the cool of his back, the pain in his voice.

"Your blood," he says in an aching voice so deep, so resonant, I can feel it vibrating in my ribcage. "You deliberately put yourself in the path of men hired to lure you into danger, where my worst enemy was trying to take you from me. You dangled off the side of a cliff, bleeding while he hunted you, and I wasn't even there to stop him."

"I'd do worse than that to keep you," I whisper, my voice shaking. I'm nervous, but we need to have this conversation, or the same thing can and will happen again. "You think I don't understand? I do everything I'm supposed to do. I always do everything I'm supposed to do, and I hate it, because it's still not enough to keep you safe and with me. It killed me to do something that would make you this angry, but I can't beg your forgiveness if you're not alive to forgive me."

He recoils a bit, just enough to glare at me, but I don't blink.

"I'm not _alive_," he states, ice in his voice.

"You know what I mean," I say, just as cool-headed and furious as he is. "To keep you, period. In the rest of the world, you may be infinitely stronger than I am, but destroying vampires is what they _do _here in Volterra. Do you have any idea how long it took us to figure out how to keep you animated and in one piece? Do you have any idea how much work it took her to get Jane and Alec away, and keep them away in time for your return?"

He curses under his breath so quickly I can't quite decipher it, but I don't miss the flicker of shock in his eyes.

"You forgot about Jane, didn't you?" I press, silently willing him to understand. "Their absence wasn't luck, it was planning. Every time you get angry and forget exactly where we are, Alice has to watch you _die, _Edward. And she calls me, just like she calls you, so don't you dare tell me I ever chose anything over you. I would risk my life a thousand more times if it means keeping you."

"Shut up," he growls, furious again, twisting me in a blur of limbs until I'm on his lap, wedged between him and the keys. "Don't talk about risking your life like it doesn't matter. Don't even think about it; do you understand?"

He's still angry, obviously, but there's an undercurrent of hurt and fear that breaks my heart. However, this is not how I always imagined being manhandled against a piano. It's always seemed like a good idea, but now that it's finally happening I'm uncomfortably aware of all the sharp angles on a piano, and vampires aren't exactly soft, either.

"Edward," I whisper. "This hurts."

"Me too." He holds me tighter, not understanding. I try to wriggle, but I can't.

"You're hurting me," I clarify gently, and he quickly relents with quiet hiss, lifting me easily.

"I shouldn't be touching you now. I can't even―" I flinch as his fists come down on either side of me, easily going through the wood to the maze of wires and levers below. My movement is pure reflex: I'm not afraid of him, but he catches it, and I see the regret in his eyes immediately.

"Bella," he whispers so quietly that I barely hear him. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I know." I reach up to trace the fine bones of his face, but he grabs my hand and presses it to his face.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Would you even tell me if I did?"

I close my eyes, and he runs his hands over me, as if inspecting me for further damage.

"I'm fine," I murmur, running my fingers through his hair. "The piano was digging into my ass, that's all."

"I don't trust your definition of fine," he says, kissing a bandage on my arm. "You're too fragile. Anything can hurt you."

I'm clearly pushing it, but there's something irresistible about the way anger and lust swirls between us. He says nothing but his eyes glitter black and intense as he reaches behind me, copping a feel before breaking a few more keys. His sweet, sensual scent overwhelms me as he stands, pressing into me. God, he's tall. And solid.

"That'll show the piano it better not mess with your woman," I whisper as a wave of pure lust surprises me, pulsing through me, and I'm pretty sure he can tell, because his nostrils flare as a low growl escapes his clenched teeth. "Mmm..."

That's both accidental and slightly embarrassing, but he seems to enjoy it as much as I do,—at least the part of him that's pressing against the soft skin of my stomach does. I can think of where that could be put to better use, and he lets me push him back down on the bench.

He surprises me by cooperating as I move to straddle him, his hands sliding to my rear and pulling me flush and tight against his very hard form. I press against him instinctively, reaching for his mouth with mine.

He gives it to me without hesitation, and it's almost too much, his kiss too demanding, almost brutal.

Even so, I can tell he's holding back, the low rumble of his continued growl vibrating now throughout us both, at every point of contact. I swear I can taste his sweet venom pooling, and I lick it off his tongue like a cat before he rips his mouth from mine and starts a maddening descent of open-mouthed kisses down my neck. I start to go a little crazy.

"Maybe I am too fragile. Edward, just do it," I beg unthinkingly, aching for his teeth as well as his cock. I can feel both, hard and straining for me through all-too-real slick barriers of silk and vampire skin. "You can bite me if you want. We'll say it was an accident."

"Fuck, Bella" he hisses as he pulls me away from him sharply, his eyes wild and dangerous as his teeth glisten in the moonlight. "You can't just say things like that."

"Sorry, wasn't thinking clearly," I murmur, scraping my own teeth lightly along the column of his throat. "But I think about it. Don't you?"

He pulls me up a little too fast, holding me immobile against him while his mouth hovers right next to my throat, until he pushes me away from danger . I feel rejected, as stupid as that sounds. I know we can't do _that_, at least not yet. Sometimes I think he'd prefer I stay human—not that we've discussed it much since Aro took that choice away from us, but Edward's initial ambivalence leaves a lingering sting.

"I want to," he confesses, gripping the piano bench until it splinters beneath his fingers. The sound of it feels like some twisted victory, proof of his desire for me whether I'm warm and sweet-smelling or not. "God help me, I want to. I want to sink my teeth into you to make you understand. I'd make you immortal. I'd make it impossible for them to take you away from me."

I could scream in frustration, and I want, I want him to understand, too. The bench creaks beneath us and breaks into pieces, but we don't fall. Instead, he pushes me away in time, cursing as he struggles to control his anger. I hear a jumble of a few discordant notes as my backside and his hands crash into the keys again. It doesn't hurt as much as it surprises me, but I see the cracks beneath him, and fissures in the wood. We're going to need a new piano.

We pant together for a moment, our foreheads pressed together, like we're trying to merge into one person. It's not a bad idea. I pull away when the physical ache becomes worse than the metaphysical.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, his voice breaking with anguish.

"Then control yourself," I say, trusting he knows I'm not just talking about now. "Don't you dare do anything that will take _you_ away from _me_," I add, just in case, letting all my fears come to the surface.

He reaches underneath my nightgown, his hands sliding swiftly up my naked flesh. I sneak in a kiss that turns wet and desperate as he jerks his pants down and lifts me up sliding into me like he can't help himself. Like he belongs there. It feels so good I start riding him somehow, bracing myself against the wrecked instrument behind me.

"I mean it, Edward," I insist. "I need you. Don't leave me alone with these demons. Don't provoke him. I won't end up like Marcus."

"Nobody else's name on your lips while I'm inside you," he demands.

I feel the piano become unsteady before I hear the creaking, and Edward pulls me away right before the legs give way and it collapses on the floor. I ignore it as he turns us, bracing us now against the open window and as his mouth on my neck sends me into a frenzy. I wonder absently if the walls will survive our lovemaking any better than the piano. I have to hold on to him because he's holding on to the wall, so careful to spend his temper where I won't hurt. I cry out as the pleasure builds inside me and crashes as he drives into me, his face a tortured twist as he chants my name.

A warm breeze flutters the white curtain sheers all around us as our noisy cries ring a ghostly echo within the twisted coffin of wood and ivory.

**~oЖo~**

I wake up a few hours later to the sound of the shower running and realize that if I want to keep my hiding place a secret, this may be the only chance I get. Fortunately, the hinges don't creak on the front door, and by the time the water shuts off, I'm back in the apartment, tucking the miniature screwdriver back into the Swiss Army knife Charlie gave me for my 17th birthday. Except for the piano and the wall near the window, it looks like Edward tidied up from his frenzied search the night before. As the laptop whirrs back to life, a muffled expletive tells me that my hiding place remained undiscovered.

Edward throws open the bathroom door, glancing between me and the computer in shock. He looks so boyish that it's hard not to laugh.

"Where did you hide it?" he asks, frowning incredulously.

"Hide what?" I ask innocently, trying to conceal my smile. "Oh, were you looking for this?"

"I looked everywhere," he complains. "Three times. Just tell me where it was."

"Like I'm going to give up a perfect hiding place. I was thinking we could look for a replacement piano online. And maybe some plaster and paint before the landlord sees that."

I nod toward the window, which sustained considerably less damage than the poor piano, but there are still noticeable patches of missing paint with sizable indentations in the shape of someone's long, pretty hands. Hands that are now running through damp auburn hair.

"Shit," he says, looking not at the wall, but at the mess in the corner. "I really liked that piano, too."

"Better it than you," I murmur, tapping out a quick reply to an e-mail from Charlie.

"You mean _you_," he says, his eyebrows up in clear challenge.

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me," I say with complete confidence, and his expression softens.

The sheer curtains billow in a particularly sweet-smelling breeze, and I smile, stretching my pleasantly sore muscles with the memory of our early morning rendezvous. I inhale deeply, trying to place the scent, somewhere between blooming plant and a sweet-spicy incense. Unfortunately the wind carries more than perfume, and whatever it is lands right where I'm trying to work.

"Hey Edward? Could you grab me a paper towel from the kitchen? There's some dirt or something on the computer screen."

"Please don't use paper towels, they scratch," Edward says, frowning as he approaches with a little white cloth.

He wipes the screen and stares at the cloth for a long time, sniffing it, and the air. I peer over his arm, and notice the way the ash reflects the light. It ... sparkles.

"Is that...? _Oh no_," I ask, fear bubbling up inside me again. "Can you tell who it is?"

Edward looks at me, concerned etched into his features. Concern, and something else. Fear? Grief?

Oh no.

"Edward! Where's Carlisle?" I ask, clutching his arm so tight it bruises my fingertips. "Tell me it's not Carlisle, please. Please, oh please, no, Edward tell―"

"Shh, Bella," he whispers, gathering me in a comforting embrace. "It's not Carlisle. I can hear him, and he's fine. A little unhappy, but fine. Shh, it's okay."

"Do we know who it is?" I ask, wondering if this is good or bad news, and immediately feeling guilty for even thinking it could be "good" news.

"Are you worried about someone in particular?"

I sniff his spicy-sweet scent, and bury my face in his chest.

"Am I a bad person if I hope it's Jane?" I ask, embarrassed. "Or Chelsea?"

"No worse than I am," he admits, the smile evident in his voice. "Though I'd prefer to kill him myself, so in a way I'm glad it's not Demetri, either."

I try to keep my reaction private, because I'm worried that he'd misinterpret it. I am relieved that it's not Demetri, but for entirely selfish reasons. If Demetri were executed tonight I'd feel incredibly guilty. I don't know how I'd ever look at Heidi again.

"Who was it?" I ask calmly, struggling to keep my face impassive.

"It's nobody we've ever met," he says. "It happened while you were sleeping; I wasn't going to bother you with it. Apparently Jane and Alec went on a wild goose chase, but you probably know more about that than I do." he looks at me questioningly and I shrug.

"My part in the goose chase was pretty limited to just knowing that it was happening," I admit. "Alice wouldn't let me help with that at all."

"They were pretty angry to be misled," he confirms. "But when they returned they found some vampires at the gate who were sufficiently careless enough to warrant immediate trial."

"Are they usually that fast about it?" I ask, unsettled. "I mean, it just seems fast for arrest, trial, and execution all at once."

Edward slides in next to me, and I hand him the computer. He types quickly, and we wait for the video-conference window to load.

"I think they really wanted to execute someone," he murmurs, not looking at me. "But from what I gather, it doesn't usually take very long when Jane and Alec are involved. I don't think these vampires had any meaningful connections like we do, and like Demetri does. That makes it ... less complicated, whether it should be or not. I definitely owe Alice some gratitude for getting the twins away."

"That's a good start," Jasper says, his voice sounding slightly tinny over the Internet as the little black square on the computer flickers into focus, or whatever it is that webcams do when they're first transmitting. "I know you don't like the way she went about it it, Edward; but as everyone has explained to me, Alice's visions pretty much trump everything else, right?"

Alice looks kind of miserable, and I think she might be staring at me and my bandages. I wave, smiling.

"I'm okay," I protest, as Edward glowers a little. "Really. I'd rather you guys not fight, please Edward? Remember, we all did exactly what we had to do, and we're all okay."

Edward stares at my bandages for a long time, and Alice looks like she'd be crying if she could. Jasper looks furious.

"Please?" I ask, lightly touching the cool, smooth skin of his hand. "For me, Edward?"

His black eyes bore into mine again, and, relenting, he sighs, simultaneously and just a moment before Jasper does the same.

"I'll do what I have to," Edward warns, still looking at me, "to keep you safe. I guess that means Alice's visions trump everything. But can we at least agree that Bella won't do any more stunt-work, from now on?"

"It wasn't that bad," I protest, earning a glare from Edward.

"I hated putting her in danger," Alice says softly. "I really am sorry about that, Edward."

"But you'd do it again," he says.

"Rewind a year," Jasper says. "Would you still change Alice?"

"You would have if I hadn't," Edward says, frowning. "Except you would have either killed her or led us all to the Volturi."

"It sucks, doesn't it?" Jasper asks pointedly. "Having your mistakes explained to you when you didn't even get a chance to make them, knowing that the one person you want to protect most was in danger because of you?"

"This is hard for me," Edward confesses, looking down. "I have a new appreciation for your position, Jasper, and I'm sorry, too."

"But you'd still do it," he says, and it's not a question.

We all would. With the way things are going, we may very well have to in the near future.

"I have questions, Alice," Edward finally says, changing the subject. "Everyone's thoughts were conflicting, and Aro was ... well, being Aro. How much of this was Aro, and how much of it was Demetri? Aro claimed he had no idea what was going to happen, but I find that difficult to believe."

"The only order I saw Aro give Demetri was to watch over Bella while you were gone," Alice replies. "Honestly, his decision didn't make much sense when I saw it."

"I think it was my fault," I admit, playing with my Cullen bracelet. "I think something I said made him want to play the hero, and he just saw this as his opportunity."

"You can't blame yourself for this," Edward says, gently lifting my chin until I'm looking at him instead of my hands. "I saw that conversation from his mind―"

"You saw that?" I interrupt, truly shocked.

And here I've been feeling guilty about keeping my interactions with Demetri a secret. I wonder how much Edward has been watching the whole time. It makes me feel weird, like I want to yell at him for not telling me, even though it would be hypocritical of me to do so. I guess we've all been keeping things from each other.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he says, looking anxious. "I was just trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy."

"You could have just walked with me and saved me the uncomfortable encounters." Even though he couldn't.

"Alice said if he hadn't met you on the street that day he might have come to you at night, while I was hunting."

I look quickly at Alice, who shakes her head slightly while Edward's attention is still focused on me. I'm not sure if she means that he doesn't know about Demetri's night visit or if I still shouldn't tell him about it, because of what he might say to Aro.

"I really hate this place sometimes," I say, burying my face in Edward's chest.

"I'm glad to hear it," he murmurs, rubbing my back. "You gave a very convincing speech to the contrary last night."

"I did?" I ask, trying to remember when that happened.

"Right before you asked Aro to go ahead and kill you."

"You really did that?" Emmett asks incredulously, his curly head butting into frame. "Rose and I didn't believe it when Alice said it was happening."

I hide my face again, embarrassed to think of Alice doing a play-by-play like some old-timey radio announcer.

"Yeah. I may have been a little irrational at that point. Fortunately, he didn't take me seriously."

Edward squeezes me a little too tightly, but only for a second.

"What concerns me is what Aro knew about Demetri's intentions," he says. "If he was just trying to provoke me I can handle it, but what if it's something worse? I've seen some pretty dark things in his mind when his control slips, and it seems to be slipping more frequently lately."

"Aro's future keeps changing," Alice agrees. "He used to stick with decisions, but I think he's starting to get paranoid. He thinks your influence is dangerous, Edward, and he seems to think you want to take his place. He's obsessed with figuring out who he can trust at this point."

"It must be a very short list," Edward says grimly. "And half of those people seem to be advocating for us. His wife, Marcus, even Caius, when it suits his purposes. I think he's down to Chelsea, Felix, and Jane for people he can truly rely on if he wants to hurt us. "

"It's about to get shorter," Jasper says with some determination. "Tell them what you saw, honey."

"I think Afton's almost ready to ask Chelsea to leave with him," Alice says. "He's made up his mind, but he's going to ask your help, so be ready for anything."

Now that I've seen Afton's talent in action, it's easy to see how he could have cheated Aro in many small, barely significant ways. It's the kind of thing that would get you fired from your work in the normal human world, but probably murdered if you were a character in a mafia movie. With the way Aro constantly undermines Afton, and the way he treats Chelsea, it's hard to blame him for wanting some kind of revenge. But with Edward's presence, and Aro's talk of bringing in a vampire with lie-detecting powers, Afton has to feel the walls closing in on him. That's obviously bad for Afton, but good for us, since the key to our survival and escape seems to be getting Afton's wife, the beautiful, manipulative Chelsea, the one who Aro relies on to keep everyone in line, out of Volterra.

"Can you see anything?" Edward asks Alice.

"Mostly now, I see you succeeding, and both of them leaving" Alice confirms, looking a little nervous. "But without Chelsea's influence, I see things shifting a little for just about everyone."

"It's a game-changer, and Aro tends to think the worst of everyone," Jasper explains. "You've seen how he acts when he thinks the worst. Once he no longer has Chelsea's influence to rely on, things will probably get ugly very quickly."

"_Get _ugly?" I ask, trying to suppress a shudder. "It's been ugly."

Nobody says anything, but the way Edward draws me closer makes it pretty clear that the worst is yet to come.

**~oЖo~**

There's not much left to the semester, and we spend most of it in preparation for the summer tour. Or, at least I do. I'm freaking out on the inside, but it's kind of nice to be able to stress about something other than, oh, monsters and people dying. Worrying about music feels like a luxury, but there's an entire hour of it to learn. An hour may seem like nothing much, but for a non-vampire it seems like an unreasonable amount of music to master and memorize.

"_Bambina, bambina, bambi_, please! Put your faith in me," Francesca insists loudly when I beg to do some of my old arias on tour. "_Chi bene incomincia è a metà dell'opera—_you got to start right to end right, and you just learned how to sing right into these cheekbones."

"I can't use anything we've already worked on?" I ask dejectedly. "I mean, I know I just had a breakthrough, but can't I just use the new technique in songs I already know?"

This tour. This tour is, as Jasper put it before, a game-changer. When I first made my deal with the devil, Aro made it pretty clear that I'd have to be somewhat successful as a singer before he'd let me change_—_unless, of course, we were willing to become Volturi guard. It usually takes ten or fifteen years for an opera singer to get any kind of recognition at all, and while Edward seems to think that my aging far past his human age wouldn't be a big deal, I'm really not happy about the prospect. Winning that competition, and getting this tour means that, if all goes well, I could be a vampire much, much sooner than expected, within months, instead of decades.

And I want it to be months. I _need_ it to be months. It's why I've been working my ass off―just for the remote possibility that if I play my cards right, I can earn my freedom and Edward's peace of mind.

All of this, of course, means listening to Francesca, who seems to be more than happy to crack the whip.

"You don't want to go out there with your old stuff, not when you just learned how to sing in the mask," she warns. "Please, trust me. The old arias are molded to your old technique, _Carissima._ They will just drag you back into sounding like a pretty young girl. Let me tell you_—_there are hundreds, _millions _of girls with pretty voices out there. Sing like that, and they will say, how nice, maybe she and the hot piano guy will get married and have pretty babies. You go out there with your sweet young face and the voice of a _woman_, and people will notice and talk about how they want to see you in operas. They will still want to see you make babies with Mr. Handsome here, but they will talk about your voice, and that's what's important. Trust Mama Francesca, who has lost and won more parts than you want to think about_—_you need new songs for it to work right."

Of course I give in. After several consultations with Francesca, Aro, and Dr. George, I've got a list of solid arias and exquisite art songs from different time periods and languages, and they're all typical of young ingenues, or the "Puccini Soubrette" sound, as Dr. George calls it.

I'm a little worried that everyone knows most of the songs on my list, but they all tell me that the best way to get people to come is to do crowd-pleasers and then stick a few unusual numbers in just to keep it fresh. I've got a few modern art songs by Golijov that I've fallen in love with, so that counts as my "fresh." My aria list, on the other hand, reads like a wish-list of most of the roles any young soprano would like to sing: Pamina from _The Magic Flute_, Musetta from _La Boheme_, Adele from _Die Fledermaus_, on and on, with the glaring exception of the arias I came here with. I miss them, but Francesca promises I can have them back to work on after the summer ends.

Edward doesn't seem to have much to do besides bond with his new piano_—_a gift from Alice_—_which arrives suspiciously soon after Edward mentions thinking about getting a new Bösendorfer. I swear, if Edward looked at a woman the way he looks at that piano, I'd scratch her eyes out. It's revolting how much time he spends fussing over it, tuning, polishing, and playing it. It would probably drive me insane, except for the fact that I'm completely stressed out about learning and memorizing an hour's worth of new music. Fortunately Edward helps me whenever I ask, but I'm pretty sure it's to keep me from touching his new toy with my dirty human hands.

I'm starting to feel a little bit like Alice's marionette, or maybe Francesca's, from all the advice I get from them about the non-musical aspects of the concert. Alice, bless her, is putting just as much effort into promoting my tour as she did for Jasper, who tells me to be glad her visions prohibit her from coming to Italy to take me shopping in person. Every day she floods my e-mail with links to various fashion sites, and preferring to worry about the music more than what to wear, I end up telling her to do whatever she wants with regard to clothing as long as it doesn't involve us renting a trailer or anything bigger than a mid-sized van for the tour. I'm joking, but she gets all huffy and won't talk to me until Jasper finally intervenes, convincing her that what I wear offstage isn't going to make a difference. Apparently I don't appreciate how boring it can be near the Arctic Circle when you don't need to sleep.

Dr. George promises to come to one of my performances and tells me to thank Alice for sending him the promotional tour posters, which he's taped to his door. I shudder to think of the vandalism that must be going on with these posters, which I haven't even seen. Alice informs me that a) the picture of me is beautiful, and b) I don't want to know, other than the fact that my favorite former classmates are dying of jealousy back in Washington. It is slightly gratifying to hear, although I'm a little bit jealous that they can do whatever the hell they want without worrying about vampires, or Francesca Bini's obsession with my eyebrows.

And for whatever reason, either the vampires don't scare me anymore or I'm just numb to it all. Maybe it's the combination of time and exposure, or maybe it's Demetri's absence, but as far as I know, the only nightmares I have are dreams in which I'm on a stage, in costume, and an orchestra starts playing something I've never heard before. Maybe it's the fact that, because of our presence, fewer humans have been consumed in Volterra. The small but dedicated group of _humanitarian_ Volturi are the subject of much discussion around Volterra, with Aro vacillating between annoyance and using it as a selling point while trying to convince Carlisle to move back permanently. Carlisle deflects this invitation with all the charm and skill of a born diplomat, making the possibility seem likely after my newborn year away without ever explicitly promising anything. It's a game I pretend to ignore, as if we were discussing the weather, and not my future.

At some point in the conversation, Aro always does the same thing: he smiles, steeples his pale, elegant fingers under his chin, looks at me as if he knows something I don't, and speaks in a sweet, low voice.

"It all depends on how things go this summer," he says silkily. "I'd like to see you with at _least_ a modest following first."

"His mind is like a tank of slippery eels," Edward says to me one night when I ask what he means by this. "He's twisted. He's so busy trying to control everything and hide it from me that it could mean anything, depending on his mood."

"He keeps changing his mind," Alice adds, looking a little frustrated. "Sometimes he decides to help you get famous, sometimes he decides to let you twist in the wind. His mind used to be a lot more predictable before Demetri left, but hardly anyone lets him touch them any more. It's making him really paranoid."

"But he seems fine," I protest, bewildered at the difference between what they're saying and what I see. "He seems so much more pleasant since Carlisle started spending time with him again."

"Seeming and being are two different things in Volterra," Carlisle says sadly, leaving the apartment.

"What was that about?" I ask Edward. "Carlisle's not feeling guilty about what we're doing, is he?"

"No, he's used to sacrificing honesty for the sake of human lives," he says, staring at the door. "He was just thinking that it's a sad state of affairs to know that the only person who can afford to be honest around here is Jane."

**~oЖo~**

The remainder of the semester passes by with virtually every moment stretched for maximum productivity, to a degree I find ridiculous. I'm told frequently that I sing even in my sleep , and do a spot-on impression of Francesca that, for some reason, cannot be replicated during waking hours. Once classes break for the summer, we only have a few days to physically prepare for the trip, and I have no idea how people do this without vampires, because the details of putting it all together consume every spare minute. Even the few moments Edward and I manage to spare for sex doubles as shower time. Neither he nor Carlisle bother with human speed, me feel like I'm practically frozen in another dimension, even doing something as simple as brushing my teeth or eating breakfast.

"Carlisle's coming," Edward says softly, tugging on the towel I've twisted my hair in for drying, so that wet spirals snake down my back. "And he's bringing Afton. You might want to get dressed. I think this is the chance we've been waiting for."

Finally.

I'm still in my robe and fuzzy slippers, so I slip into the bedroom just as I hear two pairs of heavy footsteps on the stairs. I hear only muffled voices, but something in Edward's tone tells me that is politeness is mostly perfunctory. I finish brushing my teeth and turn off the water just in time to hear the tail end of something that explains both Edward's tone and something I've wondered about for hours.

"...the way I see it, you owe me," Afton says tersely. "It was my testimony that put Demetri over the edge. They never rely on human testimony alone―their memories are just not reliable― oh, hello, Bella. I mean no offense by that."

Judging from the look on Edward's face, he's talking to the wrong person. Carlisle stands between them, his arms folded in a somewhat tense referee-like pose.

"None taken," I murmur, slipping under Edward's outstretched arm. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to an improved memory. It will make learning music much easier, among other things."

Afton sniffs disdainfully in reaction to this, clearly not believing that I'll ever be a vampire.

"Bella is much more forgiving than I am," Edward warns. "I am aware of what you did to help Bella last night, and I'm inclined to help you, but not the way you go about it, Afton."

Afton narrows his eyes, which makes him look even more like a fox. Whatever he's thinking seems to annoy Edward even further, and the two have a bit of a stare-down before Afton finally blinks.

"I apologize," Afton says carefully. "For both my words and my thoughts. I'm not used to dealing with someone like you, Edward. Aro doesn't think I'm worth the effort to know the contents of my mind."

"That's what he wants you to believe, yes," Edward says with a slight smirk, obviously accepting Afton's apology for the time being.

"What do you mean?" Afton asks, his interest clearly piqued. "Please," he adds, his tone more conciliatory at Edward's own narrowed gaze. "Aro always treats me with far less respect than he does the other talented vampires. Even the untalented ones, and some humans." His eyes flicker to me for an instant.

"I mean," Edward says in his soft, polite voice, "that Aro is jealous of any devotion that any of his ... subjects might have to anyone but him, and that goes double for his favorites. Since he sees Chelsea as both a favorite and as an indispensable part of his guard, he sees her devotion to you as a threat."

"He does?" he asks, frowning. "But Chelsea loves her status in Volterra. She'd never leave here."

"Afton," Edward sighs dramatically. "She may love her status. She may even love court. But I have heard her thoughts and I've seen the two of you through Marcus' eyes. Your bond is much stronger than you realize. You are and have been her first priority since you first mated. If you asked her, she would follow you. But it has to be you who tells her, otherwise her pride will come between you."

Afton looks as though he's had the wind knocked out of him, and he goes to the window to stare out of it. Edward, Carlisle, and I exchange loaded looks and wait. It's kind of a risk for Edward to hint that he knows what Chelsea would or wouldn't do.

"You do know, then," Afton finally says, his eyes closed.

"It's none of my business, but yes, I know every thought you've had since I came to Volterra," Edward says calmly.

"Does anyone else know?" Afton asks shiftily.

"So far, I'm the only one apart from you, although Caius suspects, and what he suspects is pretty close to the truth. But he has for a long time, so you're probably safe as long as you don't get him angry"

Afton looks so terrified I actually feel sorry for him and even Chelsea, by extension. Carlisle puts his hand consolingly on his shoulder.

"Edward will not betray your secrets, and neither will we," he assures him, looking over at me. I nod in agreement. "At least, not willingly. If Aro manages to touch Edward, then I'm afraid all bets are off."

All I know is that Afton has cheated Aro in whatever way that most people would be kind of pissed off about but that get people gunned down in movies about the mafia. All I _care_ about is that it's our only hope of getting Chelsea to leave. Afton doesn't look remotely comforted, but then, he doesn't know Alice.

"Right," he says absently, headed for the door.

"Afton, you should tell her yourself," Edward warns, a bit more forcefully. "The three of us will be gone for most the summer, so you have time. Pick your moment wisely and it should go well."

He nods, looking haunted, and afraid.

I blink once, and he's gone.

**~oЖo~**

Alice manages to find us what seems like the largest van in Europe, a huge, yet somehow sleek, black thing with tinted windows for Edward and a makeshift bed for me, with what amounts to a massive walk-in closet in the back half. At first, we play only in a few small Tuscan churches, arriving a day early to put up flyers and posters, making sure the newspaper got the date and time right. The first audience seems hardly larger than it would be if we happened to stop in and started singing, which makes me feel both comfortable and disappointed at the same time. The audiences seem to be appreciative enough, and stay till the end.

After the first couple of weeks of recitals in small Italian towns, my stage nerves practically disappear, and performances start getting fun. The music settles comfortably into my voice, and without the constant pressure of Volterra, the column comes more easily, making me feel whole and free, or at least out on parole. By the time we're ready to really start traveling, Alice takes over publicity, often hiring local people to put up posters while she generates interest on the internet. Our combined efforts seem to start paying off, and each stop on the tour seems to gather a few more people than the last.

We even get a couple of small reviews in local newspapers after Alice insists on scheduling appointments for me in outrageously expensive beauty salons. One of them calls me _La Bella Cigna, _as Dr. George used to, and the nickname seems to stick. I bet Alice wrote that article herself, duplicating it on some internet sites about local classical music, but she won't admit it. I try not to think about it too much.

It's nothing. Just a little article. Or two.

We move on to southern France, and Spain, and things start to get interesting. Bigger towns turn into smaller cities. My concert attire seems to be finely tuned to the fashion sense and energy of each town and city_—_and as Francesca had predicted, the press seems to care almost as much about how we look as what we sound like. Sometimes I barely recognize the woman in the mirror before I go on stage, particularly when my dress turns out to be backless, or worse. Somehow the look always seems more elegant and sensual than exposed, but Edward gets insanely jealous and finds countless opportunities to flirt with me and mark his territory in front of any man who looks at me for longer than two seconds, turning on a relentless and rakish charm that makes me blush.

The audience loves it.

Whatever Alice does to make the press come seems to be working, but I find it too unnerving to handle, so I refuse to look at any articles after the first few. We start getting interviewed by the third week on the road, and Edward usually handles it flawlessly in whatever language they ask questions. Of course, I find this incredibly erotic, and we end up spending a little bit more money on hotel rooms than we had previously budgeted for, but it's definitely worth it. We're not famous, by any stretch of the imagination, but we're getting a solid reputation as musicians and a small, fervent Internet presence that seems to take on a life of its own.

Seeing my own face―even barely recognizable in stage makeup―in posters and posted on the Internet by total strangers feels more than a little weird. It feels like something that's happening to someone else, or like a dream in which I'm temporarily someone else. I cope with the unreality of it all by reminding myself that classical music fame is hardly anything that could get me into a tabloid, and by wearing jeans and t-shirts when off stage. I ask Alice to only tell me when there's constructive criticism about the music, which she sends me faithfully in email form. Usually the critiques are positive, but occasionally someone gives criticism I can work with, and I obsess over these details, spending time discussing potential changes with Edward, Francesca and Dr. George. I might obsess a little too much, but if I don't I start worrying about things I can't control.

"I do not want to know how much this all costs," I murmur, fingering the exquisite beading on one of the gowns Alice chose for a performance in Barcelona.

"No, you really don't," Edward agrees, fastening his Cullen crest cufflinks. "I wish I didn't know half of it."

We're on an actual stage this time, a modest University recital hall with actual curtains I can peek through to spy on the audience before the concert begins. Looking at the decent-sized crowd of a few hundred people, I notice something, and wonder if it's something I've been somehow missing. Several of the audience members have an otherworldly beauty that I once might have mistaken for good genes and makeup, but now I know better.

"Are there always so many vampires at our concerts?" I ask Edward, who doesn't seem remotely surprised by my question.

"Ever since Turin," he confirms, not bothering to look. "They're very curious about us, and why Aro is allowing a vampire to play in public. Most of them even know our story. Eleazar is out there tonight, too."

"He is?" I ask, genuinely surprised. "Why hasn't he said anything? Or you, for that matter?"

"I didn't want you feeling nervous about it," he murmurs. "I wanted to give you a relatively vampire-free summer. Besides, he's doing a bit of research."

"Research?" I ask stupidly. "what kind of research?"

"Testing the waters," he says reluctantly. "Please don't worry about it. He just likes politics."

"It doesn't make me worried," I protest, but that night I keep wondering whether some humans will die tonight because they've decided to come to see me sing. I want to stop the recital, but that feels wrong, too. There's just too much at stake.

It takes me three songs to finally convince myself that Eleazar's political "water-testing" will prevent this from happening, and I can finally push the thoughts from my mind enough to make it into the column.

I don't look for vampires in the audience again.

**~oЖo~**

By mid-July, the audience has grown so much that we've had to change venues, and we've started playing in cathedrals and medium-sized concert halls. But Vienna proves to be something else entirely. Even Edward seems shocked when we see the advertising.

"What did you do, Alice?" I ask, calling her as we pull into the hotel's valet service. "How did we get a billboard in the center of Vienna? How much money is this concert costing you, anyway?"

"That billboard gets dedicated to anyone who plays the Golden Hall at the Musikverein," she says defensively. "Technically, we didn't pay for the billboard."

"The Golden Hall?" I ask, confused. "I thought we were playing in Glass Hall."

"You were," she says mischievously. "But that only seats a few hundred people, and you've sold over a thousand tickets so far."

"Alice, what did you do?" I demand, fighting the sudden swarm of butterflies in my stomach. "We haven't had more than a few hundred people at any concert before, so what happened?"

"You said you didn't want to know," she reminds me, and I get a sudden image of Alice buying up a huge block of tickets, just to get me the billboard advertising. "Alice, if you've bought a thousand tickets and only a few hundred people show up, I'll look ridiculous."

"Ye of little faith," she says mysteriously. "Vienna is and always has been a music-crazy city. You should really check out the classical message boards online. Of course, most of them are in German, but your Youtube clips have been surfacing on quite a few of them."

"I have Youtube clips?" I ask, looking at Edward, who ducks out of the van with unnatural speed. "When did that happen?"

"Just treat it like every other concert," Alice advises sternly. "And don't mess it up. I've been working on Vienna for months. I'm not kidding, Bella. Months. Have fun!" She disconnects before I can reply.

"You're hilarious, Edward," I accuse as he pretends to struggle with our luggage until a bellhop arrives with a shiny brass bell-cart. "Did you know about this?"

"You said you didn't want to know," he says. "And I plead the fifth. Don't worry, though. Alice says it's going to be a very good show."

Three hours later, I'm relying on that statement as my nerves escalate to a full-blown case of stage fright. I've never sung for this many people before. The concert hall is huge, and world-famous, according to Wikipedia. It looks vaguely familiar, and I'm sure I've seen it on television at some point. The backstage area is nice, the green room much nicer than any place I've had to prepare before, but I can't get my hands to stop shaking as I try to put my earrings in. On the third try I'm ready to give up, when Edward appears behind me in the mirror.

"I can't do this," I say miserably, throwing the earrings on a coffee table next to my pot of herbal tea. "I'm out of my league. Alice never should have done this. It's too much."

He smiles at me with heartbreaking confidence, and I sink lower into my chair.

"Of course you can," he says, picking up the earrings and fastening them easily into place. "Just treat it like any other concert. It's the same music_—_you can do this in your sleep, Bella. You _actually_ do it in your sleep. It's just a few more people. The acoustics are amazing in there, don't worry. Remember how great it sounded in warm-up?"

It actually did sound fantastic when we rehearsed. Apparently the hall is particularly known for brilliant acoustical design.

"Alice said I'd sing well?" I ask, desperate for some external confidence. "You guys aren't just telling me this, are you? Did she really see it?"

"Best you've ever sung," he whispers, kissing me lightly on the forehead. "And you look incredible. They're going to love you."

If they love me, then I'll have held up my side of the bargain. Then, technically, Aro can decide to make me a vampire at any time. Do well at this, and I get to die soon and wake up a beautiful monster a few days later. I'll be on the road to faking my death within ten years, breaking my parents' hearts in the process. Then there's the good part, an eternity of Edward... and vampires and eternal subjugation to Volterra ― the butterflies erupt again, but this time they feel more like a hive of angry bees, and I run to the bathroom, just making it in time to vomit without hurting my beautiful gown.

"Are you okay?" Edward asks, all patience and mild concern when I return, having brushed my teeth for the third time that day.

"Much better now," I admit sheepishly. "Let me just retouch my makeup and I'll be ready to go on."

I walk out on the oddly-shaped stage with an eerie calm and borrowed confidence, not realizing that I'm holding Edward's hand until he lets it go to sit at the piano. The gleaming hall isn't full, but it's a large audience, in the balconies and everything. It's an enthusiastic, glittering crowd, already clapping loudly as we take our places. They're ours to lose, not win over. I smile, encouraged by their energy and wait until the entire hall settles to a charged silence, thrumming with expectation. A few butterflies flutter pleasantly in my stomach, and I raise my head slightly, though tonight I doubt Edward needs any signal at all to know I'm ready. This hall seems to have a column of its own that pulls us in and connects us, not only to each other and the music we know so well, but to everyone present.

Whenever we can, we always start and finish with the native language, and while they react favorably enough to the German pieces, they seem to go wild for the Golijov in particular, the haunting English-language song, written about a friend's sudden death. It's new music, and I connect with it on an almost painfully personal level, pouring all my fears and longing into the haunting melody, basking in the sensual play between Edward's piano arrangement and my own soaring, twisting vocal line. Even though I've sung it at least a hundred times by now, only now do I feel I really get the kind of clear metaphor (in this case a bird on the wind) that helps me really own a song. I get a little bolder than usual in the end of the piece, thinking of Didyme and Marcus, of Edward and my grandmother's death, even about Renee and Charlie, and everything I have to keep from them in order to keep them safe. I hold nothing back in this moment, letting anyone who can share on some fundamental, nearly wordless but utterly spiritual level, everything I know about loss, real danger, and above all, the kind of unconditional, overwhelming love that transcends death.

I feel completely vulnerable, but also strangely powerful. The audience breaks out into a rare, wild applause that makes the emotional risk entirely worth it, and the rest of the concert goes even better than Alice promised.

By the end of the hour, I'm not even worried about singing one of the quintessential Viennese arias, the "Laughing Song" from the Strauss opera _Die Fledermaus. _It's a risky thing to have on a program in Vienna, as an audience could either find it stereotypical or embrace it as theirs. It's a classic, but also kind of a silly, but demanding song with an odd break towards the end that I've always found slightly awkward, having to smile for just a few moments longer than feels right. I feel so natural and locked in with Edward's playing that tonight I don't even worry about it at all, until Edward's playing sounds ... not wrong, technically, but a little unusual. The audience seems to think it's amusing, and I turn just in time to notice Edward sneaking up on me while a young man I've never seen before transitions into a classic waltz. Edward uses all of his devastating charm, sweeping me into the simple steps of the dance, steering us on the narrow stage more gracefully than I've ever seen or felt anyone move before. Between the natural swirl of my dress and Edward's skillful dancing, I just hold on for the few moments until he stops where we started. He kisses my hand with theatrically seductive flair, and swiftly makes his way to the piano while the audience claps again.

It's ridiculous, romantic, and totally unexpected. I blush up to the roots of my hair and completely miss my entrance, which makes the audience laugh. The music changes again, and I look up in time to feel a cool, fervent kiss on my cheek. I'm completely embarrassed by the cheesiness of the situation, but the audience eats that up, too. They seem to love my pushing him back on to his bench to finish the damn aria even more, which I finally do, flaming cheeks and all.

They clap forever, and we end up doing the Golijov again for a second curtain call. After, I shake more hands and get so many flowers that it seems like a waste, so I ask Edward if we can donate them to a hospital instead of leaving them at the hotel. He decides to take them himself, giving me the opportunity to think about something that occurred to me while singing about death and love. It's an idea that won't leave me alone, pricking at my conscience and nagging at my thoughts until I can't think of much else.

I pick up my phone to thank Alice and tell her about my idea, smiling as it rings before I even have the chance to dial.

"Of course I'll help you," she says quickly, interrupting my greeting. "On one condition—someday, and that day may never come, I'm going to ask you for a favor."

"You're quoting _The Godfather_, Alice?" I ask, shaking my head. "You are terrifying sometimes, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, remember that when it's time for my favor."

"So you think he'll like it?" I ask, feeling a little nervous. "I don't even know if he likes surprises. He may get annoyed."

"You say that like that's a bad thing," she snorts, and I blush. "I think it's a great idea, sweetie. And I know for a fact that he'll love it, so stop second-guessing yourself."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: Why yes, there is an EPOV outtake of the events from chapters 33 through the lemon at the beginning of this chapter. It's called "White Knight Sees Red". You can find out what the Sam Hell he was doing in Africa, too. You know, if you happen to enjoy the antics of an Angry Edward. Not that anyone in this fandom gets off on that kind of thing. :-o**

**Oh, and to see a picture of the Golden hall, you can go here: www (dot) worldwideticketing (dot) com/images/concerts/Vienna-Musikverein-Vienna (dot) jpg**


	36. Strong as Death

**Canzone Chapter 36, Strong As Death**

**Thanks to celebeta Nelsonsmandela, Camilla10 for the Italian and for steering me straight on certain Italian laws and practices pertaining to this chapter. Also thanks to Algie, and Feisty Y Beden, who very rightfully spanked me last chapter for letting Bella sing something she totally shouldn't and wouldn't. I changed it and we shall never speak of it again. Thanks also to my FGB auction winners- details to follow.**

*********EDIT*** I also want to thank whoever nominated Canzone for two Vampie awards (in Best Overall and Best Volturi/Nomads)**

**The list of nominees and link to voting is over here: http:/twificpics(DOT)com/vampawards/?page_id=198(DOT) **

**Chapter Music**

**Barbara Bonney sings Faure: Chanson d'Amour**

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=VFNVJZqmaWI **

**and **

**Aurore (this gets really amazing in the second verse)**

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=df4I-6CE82c **

**National Lutheran Choir performs Rene Clausson: Set me as a seal**

**www(DOTyoutube(DOT)com/watch?v=Qb6uY-y9HRI**

**Cambridge singers perform Durufle Ubi Caritas et Amor**

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=457nVpxJDkA**

**~oЖo~**

We stay in Paris for a whole week, but apart from two conveniently timed recitals, it's mostly a chance for us to unwind and enjoy the beautiful city together. Our first concert goes as most of our concerts leading up to Vienna have gone, with a nice, responsive audience of a couple hundred people or so, which is something of a relief to me. The theater is small enough that this looks like a sell-out crowd, and afterward I finally get to answer questions and chat with people as much as I like. I have a conversation with a distinguished-looking older man by the name of Phillipe Fontaine, who turns out to be the host of a classical music station, and he asks to interview us later in the week to promote the next concert.

Edward gives him a CD of the Viennese concert, and when we finally get the Internet running in our hotel room, Alice informs us that she's already moved the next concert to a bigger venue.

"It took me all afternoon to arrange it," Alice says excitedly. "But I found a place big enough to hold your audience within walking distance from the theater we were going to have it in. Good thing he decided to take requests today. I've been working on him for weeks in the chat rooms and forums, but it was my request that made him decide to go."

"That is such cheating, Alice," I say, shaking my head. "None of this success is real, you know that?"

"It's just publicity, Bella, same as the pros have," she counters, with a don't-fuck-with-me expression. "I got him to listen to you. You made him _want_ to listen to you. Now listen, I had a vision of an ill-fitting gown, so I've made you an appointment with a seamstress on Wednesday, Bella. And Carlisle will be in the city that day if you want to go hunting, Edward, although you could very well go together if you like. The coast is clear."

"I'm not taking any chances," he says grimly. "There are curious vampires wherever we go now, and Demetri could be anywhere."

"Fortunately we know exactly where Demetri is," Alice says softly. "He's going to Egypt to finish what you were supposed to do, but first he'll be delivering a talented vampire into the Volturi tomorrow. They had to use Chelsea to get her away from her coven, but she'll be a full guard member by the time you return."

"The lie-detecting vampire you were talking about?" I ask. "Maggie, from Ireland, right?"

"That's the one," she says warily. "It will be tricky, but I think we can get around it. You won't be able to say anything untrue, but I think you'll be able to evade or keep silent. Fortunately it's not far off from what you've been doing already."

It's exactly what I've been doing. I have no idea about Edward, but he doesn't seem worried about it.

"This could easily backfire on Aro," Edward says, looking more amused than I feel. "The Volturi court will be pretty quiet without all the lying going on. I take it that's why Eleazar took off for Egypt?"

"Yes, but Amun is an ass, and almost as paranoid as Aro."

"That's only because he's observant," Edward amends. "He's known Aro longer than any vampire outside of the Volturi. And yes, Amun is also an ass. It shouldn't be too difficult to inspire him to keep his protege under wraps."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," Alice says playfully. "We've got this covered. I actually do have something for you though—I've booked you for a private engagement near Turin next week."

I try not to smile as Edward scowls.

"Don't you think there are enough concerts on this tour already?" he complains. "Just because Bella's not complaining doesn't mean she doesn't need to rest."

"I'm okay," I protest, worried he's going to ruin the surprise out of consideration for my health. "I really am. I can do the thing in Turin."

My heart starts racing at the thought of it, and Edward shoots me a funny look. I hug my knees to my chest, trying to contain myself better.

"It's not a full concert, just a couple of songs for an event, Edward," she explains, distracting him. "There will also be a touring choir from the U.S. performing, and then you can rest for three whole days before your next concert. I found a really nice country house where you won't be bothered at all. Trust me, you'll be glad I booked it."

"Three days of rest?" Edward challenges warily. "And Bella will be okay?"

"Bella will be glorious," Alice smiles beatifically. "And you'll both be very happy with the engagement."

"Sounds reassuring," I say gratefully, tucking my smile into my knees.

All the butterflies in my stomach seem to smile with me. She touches her head with the dramatic flair of a carnival psychic and mugs for the camera in another attempt to distract Edward and make me laugh.

"I have foreseen it!" she says smugly, winking before the window goes dark.

"What was that about?" Edward asks curiously.

I almost tell him then, but it doesn't feel quite right, so I just smile, stretch out on the bed and kiss him until he forgets all about it.

**~oЖo~**

The classical radio station is an impressive mix of old and new technologies, from walls of vinyl to a series of computers where the DJ does this thing. We crowd in next to Phillipe for the interview, listening to the end of "Aurore" from the Vienna concert on big studio headphones.

In general, the recording sounds pretty good, but all I can hear are my flaws, and it just about drives me nuts. It's a live broadcast, though, so I don't have time to dwell on it. He introduces us and gives our concert information for the first time before getting down to the interview.

"You're both very young," the host observes in such rapid French that it takes me a couple of seconds to process what he's saying. His voice is deep and mellifluous, perfect for radio. "May I ask how old?"

It's a seemingly innocuous question, but for a vampire?

"My twenty-first birthday happened a while ago," Edward replies in equally rapid French. "And Bella will turn twenty-one in September."

Technically, it's not a lie at all, given his careful wording. I shiver, realizing how many potential pitfalls there are in this interview. Edward squeezes my hand gently, and I try to relax.

"Edward, I must say, your playing is truly impressive," Philippe adds. "With your skills I'm not sure why you aren't playing sell-out crowds as a soloist."

"Edward is a wonderful pianist," I say effusively. "I should be in the audience watching him play."

"I much prefer the collaborative aspect of playing with Bella," he replies smoothly. "Any concert pianist can tell you that it's a life of extraordinary loneliness, involving up to five to eight hours of solitary practice most days."

"But it was a life you were preparing to lead before you met Mademoiselle Swan, wasn't it?"

"It was," Edward affirms quietly. "Now I still play for the same amount of time, just with a kindred spirit."

"Surely you don't sing for five hours a day, at your age?" Philippe asks me.

"No, but I like to read novels under the piano while he works on his solo pieces."

"So you do still play?" he asks, turning to Edward. "Any chance of us hearing your solo work during this tour?"

It's something that bothers me, too. Edward could probably pack a theater on his own faster than I could if he were allowed to display his vampiric speed. This is something that Aro has expressly forbidden, however, and it makes me feel like a spotlight-stealing witch. Edward doesn't seem to care, but it still feels weird that he's only allowed to play to crowds if I'm singing, unless it's to an audience made up entirely of vampires.

"I do, but this tour isn't about that. This tour is about a prize Bella won in a competition, not about my work prior to having met her."

"You weren't lonely then?"

"Solitude lost its appeal after meeting Bella. When I was assigned to play for her," he answers evasively. "We found a deep musical connection pretty quickly, and I have to say that when we make music together, the whole is bigger than the sum of its parts."

"Having seen you on stage, I think I know what you mean. The connection, please forgive me, but I cannot help but ask," he says with a shy smile. Edward is already smiling with a similar shyness. "But the two of you fairly glow on stage together. You seem to be very much in love. Or is that an illusion?"

We laugh, and I melt into Edward's side, glad that there aren't any cameras to catch my blush. The host smiles at us, and from Edward's attitude I gather his thoughts are kind.

"That's personal," he says, kissing my hand noiselessly in a clear message. "Bella and I share a very deep connection, and I suppose it comes out on stage."

"A private life is private," Phillipe agrees good-naturedly. "But on stage, this is more than the average voice recital. Perhaps it is your combined beauty, or the depth of this private connection, but I must say that to see you perform live is to witness something quite moving and universal. Something almost otherworldly, eternal."

"That's very poetic of you," Edward interrupts, as the man's inadvertently gets far too close to the truth. "I wish your audience could see Isabella blushing right now."

"Shut up," I whisper in English, making Phillipe laugh.

"That alone would be worth the price of admission. We will stop teasing this pretty young lady and play another song from your concert series now, "Chanson d'Amour," again by Faure."

By the next morning, the show is sold out.

**~oЖo~**

The final Paris concert goes almost as well as the one in Vienna, and Edward lets me sleep till noon the following day. We finally make it on the road sometime in mid-afternoon, stopping in Lyon briefly around dinnertime. The drive should take around seven hours, but of course Edward has us flying through Provence like a bat out of hell. I should be used to it, but I'm seriously preoccupied with his surprise. If it weren't for Alice's encouragement, I'd have talked myself out of it by now.

How am I going to ask him? I picture a thousand different scenarios, every way possible from blurting it out awkwardly immediately to waiting till the last minute. I concentrate on the words, trying on different ideas and trying to imagine his reaction while our van speeds down mostly abandoned French farm roads.

"What's wrong?" Edward asks for the ten-millionth time.

"You're driving like a maniac," I say, because I'm sick of repeating the same lame denials.

"I'm driving like a mind-reading vampire," he counters, and I snort.

_Very ladylike, Swan._

Just then I feel and hear a simultaneous pop, something that makes the van jerk and swerve violently in the brief instant before Edward safely guides the vehicle to a stop.

"Blown tire," he says unnecessarily. "It won't take long to change it. You don't even have to get out of the van."

I get out, of course, glad to have an excuse to stretch. I sniff delicately while doing so, and am pleasantly surprised by the sweetness in the air.

"Lavender," I sigh, walking around to where Edward has just finished with the jack. "There must be lavender fields nearby."

"You can't see them?" he asks, smiling at me. "One field over to our left."

I look around, but I can only make out shapes, not colors. It's the time of day when all colors seem to be just darker shades of blue.

"Not as well as you, obviously," I admit. "Still, it's so beautiful here."

It's just past twilight, and the air is the same deep purplish-blue that Edward most likes to see me wear. The air relaxes in the fresh absence of the oppressively warm July sun, and I feel as free as the fireflies that swirl hypnotically in the tall grasses lining the road. A creek gurgles somewhere close by, nearly drowned out by the sound of crickets. A big yellow moon, nearly full has started a slow climb, and I make a fervent wish on the first star I see. It's probably Venus, but for my purposes, it seems appropriate.

Edward, as always, looks heartbreakingly beautiful in the waning light, kneeling next to the van in his old t-shirt, faded jeans, and his eternal youth, and I know there will never be a time better than this to say what I want to say.

"I was wrong," I whisper quietly, as he finishes putting the last bolt on, fast as an electric tool, but utterly silent except for a faint metallic whir. "I was wrong and I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you?"

I can't be above him for this, I realize.

"Wrong about what?" he asks, as I kneel beside him. "What are you sorry about?"

The air deepens in hue, but I can still see him, his pale skin reflecting the moonlight like snow.

"I knew you wanted..." I trail off, every word sounding lame. "But I never realized you might think—it was always about thinking you'd change your mind someday—okay, just give me a second, please."

I try to speak, but my heart is hammering in my ears and my mouth goes dry. I've thought about the precise words I want to use for days. I thought I had it all mapped out, but now I feel like a complete, bumbling idiot, and I can't remember what I'm supposed to say to get this right. He reaches out to take my hand, and I'm afraid he'll pull us up, but I want us here, knees to the dirt, with the fireflies swirling around us in their own silent pleas for love.

I'm just one of them, trying to light up and signal. "Stay like this for a while with me?"

"You're so nervous," he says, concern making his voice heavy. "Sweetheart, what is it? You can tell me anything, please, Bella. No matter what it is. Just tell me. I promise I won't get angry."

I realize, with the clarity of cowardice, that even if I say it with complete elegance, it's taking away something from him. That archaic part of him that makes this so much more to him than it is to me. Which makes it mean something to me too, because I love him.

"I just want to let you know how much I love you," I say, and the night is a thousand times louder than I am right now.

"I know, Bella. I love you, too." He watches my lips, my eyes, his eyes darting back and forth with curiosity and concern. "You know that."

"And, well, it's not like I can buy you anything you don't have," I continue, wetting my lips with my tongue. "Or change Volterra for you, though I would if I could. But I really want to give you something. Anything you want, tell me, and I'll give it to you, if it's at all within my power."

For a very long moment, he seems so still that it's far more like I'm kneeling with a statue than a man, and it's eerie. But then, the statue moves his head, looks down without shattering.

"You know what I want," he says carefully, his eyes searching mine. "But I understand how you feel, and I swore to myself I wouldn't push you—not when you're already under so much pressure and there's so much danger. I didn't want you to feel like you had—" I put one finger over his lips.

"Anything your heart desires," I insist. "All you have to do is ask me."

The crickets seem to get louder, and louder, and I swear the moon moves three feet in the time it takes him to speak. His eyes seek mine, and I'm trying really hard to let him read my mind.

"Anything?" he finally asks, his tone full of challenge. I nod, getting way more excited than I thought possible. "And you'll just say yes."

I nod again, and he leans in, holding my hands in his, caressing my cheek with the chilly tip of his nose until I shiver.

"Will you, please," he finally says, his voice a rough silk whisper, "please marry me, Bella? Say you'll be my wife?"

I nod, finding it hard to get the word out. "Yes," I finally say, my voice surprisingly clear. "I would love to marry you, Edward."

The world spins in an arc of stars and shadows, and before I realize we're twirling, he's kissing me, his hands on my face, his lips swift and smooth against my forehead, eyelids, and again and again, against my lips. Finally he slows down, giving me the kind of searing kiss where my own heat starts to warm his flesh, too. My fingers sink into his hair, and he moans quietly before laughing and twirling me around again.

"You will? You're sure?" he asks. "You're not doing this just to make me happy or because things are dangerous?"

"I thought it was ridiculous to do it before my change," I explain. "I mean, I'm nowhere near as intelligent or as beautiful as you, and I thought it would make more sense to do it as equals. But I do love you, Edward Cullen, and you're right, things _are _dangerous, but that just makes it even more important. Anything could happen to us, anything. And I don't want you to go through any of it thinking I don't love you enough to marry you. I do, I always have."

"Not that I'm complaining, but what made you change your mind?" he asks, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Time, mostly, and realizing that while I may not be your equal in all ways, I am your true mate." I pause, letting his growing smile give me courage. "I thought I understood, but it wasn't until we fought about my putting myself in danger for your sake that I started to realize how wrong I was. I didn't hesitate to risk my life to save you, and I think that means something."

"It means you're stubborn" he says, scowling briefly at the memory. "When? When will you marry me?"

"Whenever you want," I say, smiling secretively.

"As soon as we can," he says, laughing and swinging me in another crazy circle. "I can't wait."

The moon may be almost full and shining, but it has nothing on the pure, glowing joy that is Edward in this instant. It makes me wonder what's so different about what we already have and the official form of it. To me marriage has always been a failed idea, a dull pain in my chest. Charlie and Renee's marriage was like some ship that wrecked a long time ago, leaving me to grow up with the constant shadow over half of my heart, the ache of homesickness that comes with always missing one parent.

It dimly occurs to me that to Edward, my reluctance to marry may have been a shadow over our lives as much as Aro's threats. I feel a stab of guilt at this thought, but his happiness overcomes any feelings of regret as he takes my face in his hands and kisses me with so much fervor that I wonder if we're about to have a repeat of our impromptu camping trip the night Alice was changed.

"I wish we could do it right now," he grins, breaking off the kiss, and it takes me a second to realize he's talking about marriage instead of sex. "We'll have to get a license and all that stuff. Damn, it could take weeks. I can't wait weeks!"

"Can you wait till tomorrow night?" I ask, grinning as widely as he does.

"Tomorrow?" His face stills in sudden realization. "The private engagement near Turin? Is it our wedding?"

"If you like," I say honestly, even though Alice is pretty confident that it's going to be a wedding. "It can just be a private concert for our parents and a few other people if you prefer something more elaborate later on. But if you want, it can be our wedding. I hope you don't mind Alice's involvement with the paperwork, since she knew as soon as I decided and your birth certificate had to be forged anyw_mmmph_—" He silences me with another kiss.

"I like. I definitely like," he confirms. "I hope _you_ don't mind that this will be our first wedding, and that there will most definitely be something more elaborate in a few decades. We Cullens tend to get married frequently."

"I knew Alice gave in too easily to my preference for something simple," I sigh, resigned. "As long as you're the one waiting for me at the end of the aisle, I guess I can deal with it."

"Always."

**~oЖo~**

I crawl in the back of the van and get some sleep at Edward's insistence, barely aware of having slept when we finally stop under an inky, starlit sky. The moon is much higher than the last time I saw it, and it takes my eyes several blinks to adjust to the night before I see them at the top of a hill near a heavy gate surrounding a dense wooded area: vampires.

Six of them.

I blink several times as they approach, trying to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and my heart leaps to recognize Carlisle's smooth movements. The smallest, no bigger than a tall child, moves toward me quickly with breathtaking grace and speed as I climb out of the van. I feel rather than see Edward move next to me, his hand a reassuring presence on my shoulder, as the interior light of the van illuminates her exquisite, doll-like features.

"Alice!" I cry, the tears flowing immediately as her cold, solid little mass reaches for me in a sister's embrace. "God, Alice! You didn't tell me you guys were coming!"

"Surprise!" she says softly, wiping my tears with her cool thumbs. "Like I would miss this? Wow, tears are warmer than I remember."

"Isn't this dangerous?" Edward asks softly.

She looks at Edward pointedly, and whatever she sees seems to calm him considerably. "It's not dangerous. We're no longer newborns, you know."

"What about for you, being in Italy?"

"We're practically in France, and way off the radar. The coast is clear," she insists. "Besides, we've got a solid getaway plan in case something pops up."

"And we can really get married?" he asks, but he's grinning again. "Is it even going to be legal?"

"As legal as it can be with a forged birth certificate for you and a well-placed bribe to speed things up," Alice shrugs. "You should read the letter you wrote; it's quite moving."

"This works now, remember?" he says, touching his forehead before embracing her. "Very nicely worded, indeed. Thank you for helping Bella with this. Not just this, for everything. You've gone above and beyond, and we both appreciate it."

"So much," I whisper, kissing her cheek.

"My pleasure," she says sweetly, hugging us both. "I'd have invited more people, but Bridezilla over here kept insisting it was _her day_ or something."

"Thank you for humoring me," I say, leaning my head against hers. "Next time you can go crazy with the details if it makes you happy. I just wanted this one to feel intimate."

"Thank _you_ for humoring the old-fashioned," Carlisle jokes, squeezing my shoulder while Esme gives me a too-careful embrace. "I've never seen him look this happy before."

Edward speaks in hushed whispers with Emmett and Rosalie, and I feel completely enveloped by everyone in the family, save one.

"Is he okay? Are you okay, Jasper?" I ask, noticing him hanging back a bit.

"I'm erring on the side of caution," he says, obviously embarrassed until Alice takes his hand. "I may have to hunt again before I can hug you... but it sure is good to see you, Bella."

"Me too, Jasper," I say, tearing up again.

"No more crying, or your eyes will be puffy during the ceremony," Alice warns. "Your parents are in the villa, sleeping off some jetlag, but they're expecting you for breakfast. Edward and Jasper should go hunting—"

"And me," Emmett says, grinning. "I'm not missing Edward's only real stag party. You comin' Carlisle? I have the feeling that even though your boy's virtue may have been compromised, he could probably use a few pointers on married life."

Edward hesitates, but a quick look passes between him and Alice, and he nods reluctantly.

"We'll take good care of her," Rosalie insists, with a teasing smile. "Alice can see anything coming, and you know I can more than hold my own in a fight. Oh, and Edward? I know you've always avoided certain topics, but Emmett here? Is a fucking genius. You should really listen to him."

**~oЖo~**

"You've gotten pretty good at that," Alice remarks as I apply a subtle shade of lipstick. "Are you sure you don't want a fancier hairstyle than this?"

She's brushing my hair, styling it into soft, loose waves, the heaviest of which is partly held back from my face by my one jeweled comb.

"It's perfect," Rosalie smiles, shaking her head. "It really goes with the dress, which goes with the classical architecture and the size of the wedding, everything. I get it. It's simple and understated, but elegant, too. You want it different from your stage persona, more you."

"This is nothing compared to my stage makeup," I agree, relieved to have an ally against Alice's not-so subtle pushing for a more ornate wedding. "I'm usually applying eyelashes about now. I want to be completely me for this."

"You look lovely," Renee says from the doorway. She's holding a bouquet made up of lavender and wildflowers, beautifully arranged and artfully tied with a simple blue ribbon. "Edward and I just picked these for you on our walk after lunch. What do you think?"

Alice scowls into my hair, refusing to acknowledge this new development. The tamed wildflowers perfectly complement my long, simple wedding dress of soft white silk. Thanks to Alice, the dress was perfectly fitted for me in Paris, and a bit of subtle draping over the bust adds a sensual touch. The overall effect is just what I want: it's free and unencumbered, but elegant too, as Rosalie put it.

"They're perfect," I gush gratefully. "Wow, they look so stylish, like something you'd see on a magazine cover for simple living, but in reality you either have to pay a fortune for it or be Martha Stewart to pull something like that off."

"I wish I could take credit for the arranging, but that was all Esme. Look, the ribbon criss-crosses and is tied up like a ballerina slipper."

I smile, fingering the faded blue satin.

"Hey, is that Grandma Higgenbotham's ribbon?"

"The one," Renee says softly, obviously thinking about her mother, who died while I was still a baby. "I'll tell you exactly what she told me: it's old—because it was first her mother's—obviously blue, and technically borrowed, since someday you'll give it to your own daughter. Or a daughter-in-law, if you only have boys. And of course the earrings your father and I gave you are new."

I don't have the heart to tell her that there wont' be any children at all, but the lie by omission doesn't go unnoticed. Rosalie's expression hardens almost imperceptibly in the mirror, and she excuses herself, leaving the room without giving a reason. Alice looks after her sadly as Charlie appears in the doorway.

"Everything's ready," he says, looking uncomfortable.

"Boy, you look dashing, Chief Swan." Alice looks from me to Charlie and back again, smiling encouragingly. "I'll give you guys a minute. Just come to the hallway whenever you're ready."

"You look so happy, baby," Renee says, kissing me goodbye. "And so beautiful. My god, you two could make pretty babies. Not anytime soon, though—remember, you promised me you wouldn't make me a grandmother before I'm fifty!"

Charlie watches her go, and turns to me abruptly. And after that minor guilt-festival that I'll be depriving Renee of grandchildren, now it's home-sweet-awkward with the family Swan.

"Your friend Alice seems like a keeper," he says, tilting his head toward the hall. "She gave me and your mother some stuff from your tour. Looks like everything is going well."

"She's a pistol," I smile. "Thanks for the earrings. Mom said you helped."

"Uh-huh," he says, frowning at me with alarming determination. Charlie nervously takes my hand, but it's weird. It's almost like he's testing it. Even weirder, he looks really relieved, and slightly embarrassed. "Your hands are warm. How are the feet?"

"Even warmer." An unnatural silence hangs between us like a curtain. "Dad, are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's nothing, just..." He looks at me sheepishly, and the mustache twitches slightly. "I don't even know how to say this without sounding crazy, but something Billy said has been bugging me ... but it's nonsense."

"Yeah?" I ask, stalling for time. "And what did Billy have to say?"

I have no idea what to say if Charlie asks me a point-blank question. I can't tell him the truth, but I've never been good at lying to him. He_ always_ knows. Just like Grandma Swan.

"Billy... Billy told me a really interesting tribal legend."

Well, damn. At least I don't have to make Charlie seem crazy. I just have to stop him from adding two and two.

"That's nice," I say carefully. "Did he tell you about the one about the Quileute ancestors who could turn into wolves whenever they feel like it? Some of those stories are pretty out there."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I said," he says, scratching his neck. "Anyway, he said a lot of stuff that made for a good story but didn't make a lot of sense; but he asked me to just humor him, check to make sure you weren't cold, and stay away from the Cullens, because, well ... anyway, he told me to, and it just makes me need to ask you if you're one hundred percent sure about all this."

Charlie has always politely ignored it when people start talking about religion and miracles, and Billy's legends fall squarely into that category. It's a painless route out of this situation, for now, and Charlie's safety is more important than telling him about horrors none of us can control.

"I'm one hundred percent sure," I say with absolute sincerity. "Come on, have you ever seen anyone on the res, or anyone period, turn into a wolf?" I add, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I guess not. But all I'm saying is, and maybe I'm just feeling like every father does before he walks his daughter down the aisle, but I just want to know I'm giving my baby girl over to someone I can trust."

That, I don't have to lie about. I'd tell him how many times Edward has saved my life if it wouldn't completely freak him out, not to mention delay the wedding.

"Dad, forget about Billy's stories for a second," I say, looking into his eyes. "What do your cop senses tell you about Edward and the Cullens? What does your gut say?"

"They're a little unusual," he acknowledges, "but they strike me as being thoroughly decent. And Edward's obviously crazy about you."

"I'm crazy about him, too, Dad. And you're right, they are exactly that— thoroughly decent. They've never been anything but supportive. And Edward's been a lifesaver, in so many ways. I want this, truly."

His mustache starts to lift on one corner, and he looks almost as embarrassed as I feel, but it seems like this little bomb has been diffused, at least for now.

"Okay, I get it. You tell me if that ever changes, okay? Just because you're getting married doesn't mean I stop being your dad."

"I know."

The emotion proves to be too much for us, and he holds his arm out to me, and I take it gratefully.

We join the others in the hallway where Alice and Rosalie wait, looking as otherworldly as mermaids. My eyes hungrily take in the changes in Alice as she winks at me, and my mind sees Rosalie as human, me as vampire.

The choir is singing in Latin, a simply gorgeous piece about charity and love bringing everyone together under divine protection, that Alice and I agreed was decidedly Cullenesque, and I get lost in the glowing column of their sound. There are probably only ten or twelve singers, but their voices sound lush and angelic, twining silkily in tight harmony, the architecture of their voices echoing beautifully against the stone arches, a structured contrast with the gentle gurgle of the courtyard fountain.

The song ends, Alice nods at someone, and the chamber choir begins singing the one song I begged Alice to try to find for the procession. The words are simple, taken from the Song of Solomon. They also happen to be the exact words etched into Grandma and Grandpa Swan's shared tombstone. It was their favorite Bible verse, and—as Grandma used to say—all a person ever needs to know about real love. It makes me wonder if this shield business is an inherited trait.

_Set me as a seal upon thine heart, _

_upon thine arm, _

_for love is strong as death._

We're moving, and I peek around the corner, seeing the contents of my heart in human and vampire form here, because of love, when so much of our lives are ruled by fear. I'm grateful, and humbled by this small gathering of men and women who have done so much to love and protect me, and I can't wait to be changed, to shield them all in return.

As I listen to the words, mentally following the soprano line, I'm overwhelmed by the depth of meaning to these words of love and death, and all the nuances they've taken on in the past two years. As I walk I struggle to memorize my father's arm under my hand. Someday, this moment will be nothing but a fading memory while my mind gathers new memories in perfect recall, no matter how trivial. It almost makes me wish that Charlie had found my hand cold after all, because I want to keep this forever.

Charlie's free hand covers mine, and he leans over to whisper to me.

"You chose this music?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion.

"We sang it once in my high school choir," I whisper back. "Grandma loved it, and I wanted her here in some way."

His hand tightens on mine, and it feels like a blessing as we walk steadily toward my future, through the double row of singers, and emerge into the villa's beautiful interior courtyard. I get the distinct impression of all of us safely tucked in a stone vault, under a protective blanket of gray clouds tinged with rose. While I'm vaguely aware of how perfect everyone and everything looks, all I see is Edward, standing at the center of it all.

Charlie, with his signature eloquence, takes my hand and puts it in Edward's, patting him on the shoulder in a message that needs no words. And now it's all up to Italy.

The representative from the mayor's office, a tallish man with light brown hair and a slightly French-sounding accent, starts to speak, oblivious to the non-Italian speakers in the room. He begins with a brief introduction, and then starts reading Italian legalese from some papers in a perfunctory tone, like someone in a commercial announcing side effects for an expensive new drug. Alice had warned me that the Italian Civil Ceremony would be kind of dry and that we wouldn't be able to do it in English or use any other vows. Carlisle, while preferring a church wedding, had balked at offering bribes to priests, and we all agreed that a quiet, intimate wedding would be safer for everyone involved.

I'm slightly alarmed when the officiate mentions that the banns have to be posted in public for 15 days before the ceremony, partly because I've kept this wedding a secret from the Volturi, and partly because I know it hasn't been nearly that long since I asked Alice for help. Either she started the paperwork when I first started thinking about it, or we're cutting some serious corners here.

I peek over at Edward to get his reaction, but he just seems too enraptured by the whole process to care about insignificant details. I get a little lost, just looking at him, until the droning pauses, and the man's tone shifts, and deepens as he begins to say something far more meaningful.

"_Signor Edward Cullen, intende prendere in moglie la qui presente Isabella Swan_?" he asks, and I notice that it's almost exactly like our _Do you take Isabella Swan to be your lawfully wedded wife?_

Except it sounds so gorgeous in Italian.

"_Si," _Edward affirms, his rich baritone echoing in the far arches across from us.

"_Signorina Isabella Swan, intende prendere in marito il qui presente Edward Cullen_?"

I look into Edward's eyes, and my own "_si_" sounds embarrassingly loud, but I don't care, because of how unguardedly happy he looks when I say it.

"_A seguito della vostra risposta affermativa io, Ufficiale dello Stato Civile del Comune di Torino, dichiaro in nome della Legge che siete uniti in matrimonio." _

I can't believe that all it takes are these few words, and it's done. He should have a magic wand, because, now that I think of it, it should take nothing less to make Edward officially my own.

"_Anelli di nozze,"_ the marriage magician says, and the sunset clouds above our heads blaze peach and gold as the rings slide on our fingers.

_What if I never take it off? What if never means forever? We'll have to take them off in Volterra, right? _ I really don't want to.

"_Si può baciare tua moglie," _the magician says, as Edward leans toward me.

"Did you hear what he said?" he asks, not bothering to wait for an answer. "He said I can kiss _my wife_."

His nose nuzzles mine, and his sweet breath makes me a little dizzy as he makes a huge show of it, gently kissing my forehead, my lips, each cheek, and then finally my mouth again. I've never felt so cherished, so adored.

"My Bella, my own" he murmurs in the barely audible but unmistakable tone of someone who has finally gotten exactly what he wants. "My wife."

"Don't tell me this is going to make you even _more _possessive?" I'm teasing but I'm a little concerned, too. "Are you going to keep saying _my wife _and _my Bella_ throughout the reception? Because this could get a little awkward for everyone involved."

"Well, you have your Bible verse, and I have mine," he says, kissing my nose. "I like Jeremiah: _But if I say 'I will not mention him or speak any more in his name', his word is in __my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot."_

I have no words, but my face flushes hot from the intensity of his gaze.

His dark, soft laughter tells me I haven't begun to see the worst of it, but his mouth covers mine again, and I just can't bring myself to worry about it.

**~oЖo~**

"That was a fun reception," I murmur, as he slowly works the buttons down the side of my dress, placing soft, feathery kisses along freshly bared skin. "Who knew Emmett could give such an elegant toast?"

His hands slide smoothly up my arms until they reach the silky wide straps of my gown. He kisses my shoulders, neck, and finally the hot spot behind my left ear.

"Didn't you hear what Rosalie said?" he whispers, sending uncontrollable shivers down my spine. "'Emmett is a fucking genius."

"I guess—_oh my_—I guess so?" I pant distractedly, as my dress slips into a silky puddle around my feet.

"I know so," he says into my other ear, and the air feels good on my skin where my bra falls away.

Something cool and smooth slides down my back, over my spine, and Edward laughs darkly as my knees buckle and he has to hold me up. I sink my fingers into his hair as he kind of does this low, slow growl and begins an erotic, almost worshipful exploration of my breasts, his long fingers gently teasing until I melt into him and my mind makes one last attempt at coherent thought.

"And Renee ... I thought she might demand a wedding night with you, too ... dear holy mother of _what are you doing to me, wicked man_?"

He pulls back and sniffs nonchalantly as if his tongue hadn't just done something magical and inexplicable to my nipples.

"I like this dress," he says, tossing it gently over a chair. "I don't want it getting hurt."

"That's _not_ what I meant," I say, my eyes widening as he does it again. "Okay, yes, that! What was _that_?"

"Just the beginning of Emmett's fucking genius," he observes, cocking an eyebrow at the side ties on my fancy bridal panties. "Kind of like how genius it is to put ribbons right here, like a present. Happy wedding to me..."

Yes, he's singing. I'd laugh, but I'm too busy watching in fascination as he keeps moving his lips in such a way that they skim deliciously over my skin with each word. Just a tug, a slick slither of silk, and another, and I am completely unwrapped. I feel incredibly nervous, more so as he kisses further and further down.

Navel.

_Flickering tongue._

Hip bones.

_I've never made that noise before._

Lower Belly.

His hands slide under my hips as my back arches in automatic response.I am not silent, but they assured me that we are so far from the main house that not even vampires would hear us.

These are new tricks. Definitely new, tormenting, amazing vampire tricks.

"You've still got your suit on," I whisper, like an idiot. "I really like that suit. But you should, um..."

Inside my brain is chanting _Emmett is a fucking genius, Emmett is a fucking genius, _but I'm really freaked out, too. What if he keeps going?

_What if he stops? _

"I thought we couldn't do that kind of thing till after you change me."

"Please do _not_ ask me how he knows this," Edward confesses, shedding his clothes faster than I can help him. "But Carlisle swears my venom can't hurt you as long as my teeth don't get involved."

I lose balance, falling back into the oversized bed as Edward follows me smoothly, set on his goal. His talented hands part my knees, and I feel unbearably vulnerable and exposed.

"Your scent, Bella," he groans in pleasure leaning in, and I feel the cold-tipped something, a nose? "Your taste, to taste and give my wife pleasure."

My last semi-coherent thought is that Carlisle is a fucking genius, too. Then I'm introduced to the wonder of his tongue, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I have no way of comparing it to a human doing the same thing, but it can't possibly be this good. All reason dissolves into wave after crashing wave of wordless euphoria, and I feel pushed and pulled by currents of pleasure and desire.

When I come out of it I hear someone begging, _... _and Edward laughs, because it's me.

"That good, huh?" he asks with a silly grin, bringing my ankles over his shoulders as he positions himself to enter me. It's kind of an odd position, and I realize he intends to do this with my rear end suspended in the air, held firmly by his strong, smooth hands.

"So good, you have no idea. God, Edward, wait," I say, ashamed of my selfishness. "I want to do that to you too. I want to make you feel like that."

"Soon," he says, and I squeal embarrassingly loudly as his his movements trigger a completely new, blinding kind of orgasm. "Right now I'm busy making love to _my wife_, and it's even better than I thought it would be."

I'm being really loud, but can't seem to stop as the waves start coming so fast it becomes impossible to tell them apart. Edward looks almost demonic in his pleasure, but his eyes soften as he watches my mouth. I realize I'm talking again, only this time instead of begging I'm just saying _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou _as his touch becomes nearly warm against my overheated flesh. I convulse around him, every part of me that touches any part of him hot as flame.

I think he feels it, too, because he lets my legs drop from his shoulders, and I wind myself around him as he comes into me, my name on his lips as they find mine, my taste on his tongue as his growl of pleasure vibrates in my mouth. The soft bed engulfs us both, and I begin to feel the cooling air on my limbs in our spent stillness.

"What the hell did they tell you last night?" I ask wonderingly, rubbing my fingers into his scalp. Sometimes I do it just to hear the happy rumbling in his chest, but when he's covering me like this it's incredibly sweet.

"Just how to take care of you," he murmurs happily into the crook of my neck. "Now sleep, my Bella, and know that you are well and truly loved."

**~oЖo~**

Sometime during the night, I'm jostled from a deep, boneless sleep by the roar of the van's engine, a slight jolt and the squeal of tires as we peel out of the villa's small parking lot.

"Edward?"

"Go back to sleep, Bella." It's like some brilliant light has dimmed, he sounds so wary.

Bleary-eyed, I make my way to the passenger seat and fasten my seat belt. His expression is tense as his voice.

"I'm sorry," he says, regret flashing in his eyes. "I know we were supposed to have another day at least."

"Alice saw something?"

"Curiosity," he says, tense. "Demetri may be exiled from Volterra, but he's still watching our location for Aro. This is just a precaution."

"So everything is going to be okay now?" I ask, playing nervously with my rings. It feels weird to have two on one finger.

His brow furrows, then relaxes. Alice must still be close enough to read.

"Looks like it. Carlisle left a few minutes ago, and we seem to have gotten out fast enough," he confirms. "There's no reason for them to come here now. I'll give you a real honeymoon someday, I promise."

"Don't worry. Beats the hell out of surprise visitors," I joke, but he doesn't seem to find the humor in it. "Hey, I've got you, and all of my people are safe for now. That's all I care about."

I tilt my head and adjust the passenger side rear-view mirror so I can get a last look at our stolen moment of happiness. The lights of the villa grow smaller and smaller, until they seem as distant as any other star in this infinite darkness.

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: See, some of my surprises are happy!**

**The rented Villa loosely based on this one:**

**http:/www(DOT)tenutaberroni(DOT)it/Villa_Eng(DOT)html**

**and you can see Bella's wedding dress here:**

**http:/tiny(DOT)cc/w1x0d**

**Special thanks to those who bought my ass in the FGB auction: Just4ALE, Mechcat, Mortangel, Tanglingshadows, belli486, Alixmaret, Ksuvoge, Mycrookedsmile, lisf22, ****m81170, BHBabe and Read444. I still owe someone a chapter from the last FGB auction, but she's still deciding what she wants, I think. Feel free to PM me if that's a dirty lie and you told me and I forgot like a damn fool. That's a lot of extra Canzone and for a very good cause. Thank you all for helping out. I'll be posting whatever they want to share with you in Canzone Outtakes.**

**OH, also, remember that story I wrote with Feisty and NelsonSmandela? Yeah, we dropped another chapter into that mess. It's wretched and horrifying, and under Feisty Y Beden. Look for the word "masochistic", if you must. **


	37. Mephisto Waltz

**Chapter 37: Mephisto Waltz**

**Thank you NelsonSmandela for the beta, and to Adorablecullens and Algie for the preview and helpful critiques. Also big thanks to m81170 (author of the delightful Swirl & Daisy) for requesting a lemon for her FGB scene. She was nice enough to share, and when I wrote the last sentence of it I knew it belonged in this chapter for so many reasons.**

**EDIT: Big thanks to gkkstitch, who let me bounced this idea off her a long time ago and kept the secret. Happy birthday!**

**Chapter Music**

**Mozart's "L'ho perduta, me meschina" from **_**Le Nozze di Figaro**_

**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=7sYCI49au8Q**

**Vladimir Horowitz plays Liszt's "Mephisto Waltz," parts 1 & 2**

**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=WYs6on6Jx**me

**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=0sBINRSxN9I**

"**String Quartet No. 2" and other clips byJoby Talbot **

**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=knt-OKZ51fc**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, but I did write a lot of Canzone Outtakes, including the Stag Party scene from last chapter that many of you asked for. Check it out! Also, Buckle up. **

**~oЖo~**

_**Salzburg, Austria**_

Hotel rooms are easy. They're temporary worlds. You can make a mess, and when you come back, it's as if the mess was never there. You get fresh soaps and fresh sheets, and it feels like a clean slate, with no obligations. You can pretend, even if only for one night, that everything is as simple as four walls, a bed, and sleep.

We're getting very good at pretending.

Not to mention, the small spaces and lack of piano in these rooms usually lead to far more time alone and naked with Edward.

"You'd make a good lion," I murmur, stroking his hair so it stands up all over the place.

It's not difficult to do. All it takes is for Edward to hold still long enough for me to play with his hair. It also helps if he's lying down.

"_They_ don't seem to think so," he smiles indulgently. "Although, there's usually some grudging respect when I drain one."

"You can read animals' minds too?" I don't know why I'm surprised. "Why didn't you say something before?"

"Mmmm." He skims his fingers over the hem of the sheet covering both of us, stopping between my breasts, and lifts the cloth just high enough to get a peek.

"Checking to make sure they're still there?" I ask, trying not to laugh. "Don't distract me—I want to know more about reading animal minds. Are there thoughts in actual words, or is it mostly like watching a silent movie?"

"It's more complicated than that. Some animals have some human words," he says, drawing the sheet down to my waist. "All domesticated animals understand some words, but it doesn't make up most of their thinking. They use more of their senses."

I sit for a moment, trying to observe my own thoughts. It's a challenge, because when Naked Edward holds me, it's very hard to think about anything but his gentle, silky touches: his chilled fingertips gliding along my skin, giving me erotic little chills in the wake of their tandem paths.

"So when you're reading people's minds, is it a mixture of images, sentences, and sensations?"

"Humans, yes," he says, nuzzling my ear, which is really not helping me focus. "And it varies a lot from person to person. Most people think in odd sentence fragments. Lots of people have little tunes running through their minds."

He hums an example as kisses his way down my neck, the cold tip of his nose eventually settling right in my cleavage.

"And animals?" I remind him, still stroking his hair. "What about wild animals?"

His hands snake around me, and my back arches automatically as I try to stifle a moan. There's a wicked gleam in his eyes as he observes my struggle.

"Depends on which animals," he humors me, tracing patterns on my skin so gently it feels as soft as his whisper. It feels so sweet I start mirroring his touch with my own, starting with the back of his neck. "Some are fascinating and complex, but their minds are too foreign in nature to get anything but sensations. Some, like horses, dogs, and squirrels are exactly what you'd expect, but lots of animals would surprise you. Hmmm, that feels nice."

"Give me the highlights?" I ask curiously, running my fingernails lightly along his back as far down as I can reach. He shivers. "Like, what surprised you?"

"Hmmm, it's difficult to really read their minds, but ants, bees, and spiders are far more intelligent than scientists imagine, though I think they're starting to catch on."

"The ants and bees are catching on?" I stop scratching for a moment.

"No, the scientists," he laughs. "Don't stop. Oh, and humans rely so much on sight and sound that they miss out on a lot of animal communication. You'd probably be surprised at how much most of the animal kingdom communicates with scent, but you'll understand that more after you change."

"What kind of information can you pass through scent?" I ask, my curiosity really piqued now. "Is it like when dogs sniff everything, especially where other dogs have marked? Grandma used to say that her dog liked to read his pee-mail whenever they went for a walk."

"Pee-mail?" he laughs softly. "That's actually pretty accurate. A dog can sniff where another dog has marked recently and leaves a one-of-a-kind signature, and a kind of update on their status—mostly about health and emotional stability through a balance of hormones that leave traces when they mark."

"So like, if my grandma's old dog, Buster, was out, he could find out that a dog he's met before was out for a walk recently and that he's sad or happy?"

"Yes, exactly," he says, smiling deviously before flicking an already-stiff nipple with the tip of his cool tongue. "Humans have pretty much lost their collective sense of smell except for the purposes of mating, eating, and detecting dangerous breathing conditions."

"You always smell so good," I murmur in agreement. "I bet you'll smell even better after the change. I wish I could communicate that way now."

"Actually, humans still give out the information through scent," he says, a sly smile curling his lips. "You, in particular, are quite eloquent. You just don't pick up on the vast majority of it."

"Is that how you pick up on my moods so easily?" I ask, thinking about how he always knows when I'm sad or angry, even when I try to hide it. "Sometimes I think you can read my mind after all, and just won't admit it."

"You give me a lot of information," he murmurs, his breath sending a delightful little shiver down my spine. "For example, even though you've never said as much, I know that you become aroused whenever I make a noise like this..." He emits a low, sexy noise—somewhere between a loud purr and a soft growl. I can feel the vibrations of it throughout my upper body, and, as always, my lower regions respond immediately.

I moan softly, not even trying to stifle it this time.

"I've always wondered if vampires were part cat," I admit, panting. " All of you make so many catlike noises."

His growl gets louder, but there isn't any anger in it. More than merely catlike, it's a precise imitation of the kind of noises I've heard from lions in the zoo or on television. A nervous thrill goes through me, as his body presses heavily into mine, sinking me into the soft hotel mattress.

"Close your eyes," he says, barely sounding human.

"Why?" I whisper anxiously.

"Because," he murmurs, "I want you to experience this without your dominant sense. Think of it as a sneak peek … except of course, without the peeking. Tell me if it's too much."

"Okay." If this were anyone but Edward, I'd be scared out of my mind, but I trust him. It feels like that moment when you get to the top of the roller coaster and you know if there was any way to stop and get off you would, but there isn't, so you just scream. "Okay," I say again, breathing out sharply.

His low growling gets even louder, and his body gets even heavier until I am surrounded only by him and bed, with a little space for breathing. My arms remain free, and I sink my hands in his wild hair as he moves over me.

"Remember your promise," he whispers, sliding his hands under my knees. "Say the word, and I stop."

I keep my eyes closed and feel as his noises vibrate through me, and his various scents overwhelm me. I try to distinguish between the sweetness of his breath and the minty scents of his body, but find it difficult to separate them. As if reading my mind, he shifts up, bringing my legs around his waist, and his cool mouth finds mine. His taste is as addictive as it is numbing; it's always a game to try to capture the flavor before the tingling takes it away.

My arms and legs wind around him, hot vines on a cool, gloriously animate statue, and when he enters me, his low rumble shifts subtly in tone. I've never noticed before, but then he's never been this loud before, never shown me this much of his inhuman side while we're together. But the tone is unmistakable: when I have always imagined him to be holding back because of my fragility, it is his own vulnerability that comes across in this feral sound—all of his wants and fears. He's rougher than usual, but it feels amazing. It's just on the edge of too much, but not quite over it. I finally have a physical understanding of his terrible strength, and what he's been warning me about all along.

This discovery seems ridiculous and unnerving, and I laugh softly as my body convulses in waves of pleasure. My love, this dangerous creature, is mine, and strangely at my mercy. It makes me feel powerful, and beloved. With my eyes closed I see nothing, but feel him withdraw slightly, as if to watch me. I don't let him, and his movement only makes me rise with him as I keep my arms wound around his neck.

"Don't pull away," I whisper, kissing a perfect ear. "I love knowing this about us."

He groans in understanding, giving in again, and we move together in a seamless conversation of skin. Our bodies have learned this language together, one that is unique to our contrasts of too warm and too cold, too hard and too fragile, until we've both become fluent and unafraid in spite of the very real dangers involved.

My skin moves along his, never stopping long enough to burn or freeze at one point, our mouths tasting, exploring, _knowing_. Pleasure and pressure fuse into one concept, and we both chase it in a delicate frenzy, his feral nature acutely exposed as I've never seen before.

The ferocious sounds coming from him as his movements quicken send me right over some new edge, and I cry out helplessly, sensing his powerful release deep within me as it follows my own. I love watching him in this moment—his eyes inky black with sharp pleasure-and I don't deny myself now.

He catches me watching, and I whisper to him as his movements slow, my inane love-words coaxing the human Edward back to the surface.

"Magnificent beast," I whisper, kissing his full lower lip, his finely angled jaw. "How I love you, beautiful man."

"Brave girl," he murmurs, shivering with one last tremor, one last push, and my own body trembles in a delicious echo. "You're disturbingly impossible to terrify, you know."

"Only when you're near me," I reply as he slips out of me. "My body knows its protector; my soul knows its match."

He winds the sheets around us, nestling in behind me so that my legs curve around his. I feel safety in the weight of his arm around me, comfort in his familiar skin and scent, love in the honey-dark tune of his hum.

I sink into dreams of a lush jungle, in which I am the fiercest of all creatures.

**~oЖo~**

_**Somewhere in Croatia**_

The van zips down a rough stretch of road, the pavement full of potholes and occasionally showing scars of accidents and, I suspect, explosions of some kind. It's late, and most of what I see is darkness, with twin visions of bleak and gray in the sallow glare of our headlights. The van veers and swerves, albeit far more smoothly than it would with a human driving.

I lean my head back and try to keep my eyes closed, not so much to try to sleep anymore, but because Edward drives so fast it's making me a little crazy. I don't know how many wordless hours pass, but it seems like a really long time. Eventually the road and the ride smooth out, but my mind keeps racing, replaying a mistake I made in the last concert.

"I know you're not sleeping," he murmurs, breaking the silence. "Are you angry?"

"Of course I'm angry. At myself," I mumble miserably. "Why did I have to forget a whole verse in the one place where more than half the audience had photographic memories?"

"What?" He turns, looking at me in shock. "You were essentially forced to perform in a room with forty-seven strange vampires in attendance, and you're upset that you forgot a few words?"

Forty-seven? I only counted eighteen.

"I know, I should be used to it by now," I fret, taking a moment to process his words. "Yeah, and _what_ is up with Belgrade, anyway? Is half the city really vampires, or did some of them come in from out of town?"

"I couldn't tell exactly, and Alice didn't see until it was too late. Some of it was coincidence," he shakes his head. "But it looks like many of them came from the same place, on impulse, perhaps."

I'm pretty sure he's got another opinion on the matter, but is trying not to freak me out.

"What happened after?" I prod. "Come on, I have a right to know. I saw Eleazar talking to some of them."

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I sigh, seeing Alice's number.

"It's okay, Bella," she says sweetly. "First of all, it wasn't that bad. There won't be any press at all, and we're pretty sure that the next and final recital in Venice will only have a few mildly curious vampires around, as usual."

"It's my fault. I should have put my foot down," Edward says, shaking his head. "We shouldn't have gone to Belgrade at all. Wars always attract vampires, and that city has probably had more war than peace in recorded history, maybe even longer."

I'm not the only one beating myself up, apparently. It makes me feel selfish, and sad. I haven't really thought about what the concert must have felt like to Edward, being in a room full of non-Volturi vampires. I was more worried about the human audience than my own safety, but he must have been a nervous wreck.

"Hey, we're okay," I say, touching his arm. "We're fine, and we don't have to go back there."

His grimace softens a bit, but his eyes narrow on the road ahead.

"It's my job to keep you safe," he says. "Aro was just reminding me of who's in control."

"So he did have something to do with it?" I ask, frowning.

"Shake it off," Alice says confidently. "The tour is almost over, and yes, Aro's trying to mess with your mind. He's the one who put Belgrade on the tour, remember? Just get some rest. Hunt, sleep, and give Venice your best."

"I heard that the audience in Venice can be cruel," I mention, fidgeting nervously.

"Who told you that?" Alice and Edward ask at the same time.

"Aro," I admit.

"I'd worry if it were Milan—they're infamous for turning on singers—but Venice should be okay," Edward assures me.

"And just assume that anything Aro says from here on is calculated to mess with your head," Alice warns.

"Yes coach," I say with a little smile. "You're right."

"My two favorite words in the English language."

We pull into the hotel, an American chain hotel just outside of the Venice airport. The next concert isn't until tomorrow night, which is good, because it's going to take at least that long to shake off the tension stirred up by the concert.

When we get to the room, there's a huge bouquet of blue anemones waiting for us. The envelope has both of our names on it and the card has a simple message on it in Aro's own spidery hand:

_**We have so much to talk about, my dears.**_

_**Looking forward to your safe return.**_

_**Aro.**_

"Cryptic, but pretty," I observe. "Well, it looks like playtime is over."

Edward's arms wrap around me, he kisses me briefly and then takes both card and flowers, disappearing into the hall with them, only to return empty-handed, but smiling.

"There, now we've the maids happy. Don't forget what Alice said," Edward murmurs into my hair. "He doesn't know anything worth knowing. He's just playing his little games."

Little games. More like extreme mindfucking.

A concert hall with enough vampires to kill my entire audience in one moment. Veiled threats in the form of lovely flowers. What next?

I'm getting very tired of being played.

**~oЖo~**

_Déjà vu _hits me hard two nights later as we walk along the streets of Volterra by silvery moonlight. I finally feel a little like we've made legitimate progress in our efforts. Not that I'm not grateful for Alice's promotional help, but I finally feel like I earned something on my own merits, and it feels good.

Venice had turned out to be kind, not cruel at all. It was a small but enthusiastic audience, so much so that after the recital, an opera director from nearby Padua offered me a tiny role in a Mozart opera later on in the season. I thanked him and tentatively accepted, trying not to get too excited about it just in case it's some weird setup. He promised to send a contract, and I took his card, clutching it in my hand all the way on the drive back.

This little success feels genuine, like our wedding. For the first time since Dr. George fixed me up with Edward, I feel like everything has come a little too easy, and it just doesn't sit right. I know what it's like to audition and not make it, after all. I didn't get in to my first choice of music schools, even if I did get my first choice of voice professors in the end. I know that the performance in Vienna was genuinely good, but it took a lot of hype and publicity from Alice to get the audience to come. Where Vienna felt like winning the lottery, Venice felt an actual accomplishment.

Memories of Venice and the wedding bolster my confidence as we return to our dance with the devil, in a manner of speaking. Last time, he caught us unawares. This time, Alice has better information, because he's been planning our homecoming for a while. Unbeknownst to Aro, we've decided to take the entrance by the ruins, just as we did a year ago to the day. This year, we are the slippery ones, the unseen who come out of the shadows when least expected.

"What if Jane's waiting at this entrance, or Santiago?" I whisper.

"Then they are," Edward replies calmly. "We're not disobeying an order, just doing the unexpected."

"We never really talked about it," I say shyly, "but I really want to keep our rings on."

"I should hope so. I for one am never taking this ring off," he grins, taking my hand as I stumble on the dark path. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it if he brings it up."

Hands clasped, moonlight glinting off of our simple gold wedding bands, we slip over the wall and through ancient ruins instead of through the library corridor where we'd have to run a gauntlet of talented vampires on our way to keep our appointment.

It makes me more than a little happy to see Aro's face sour a bit when he sees us coming through the "wrong" entrance, but nothing could prepare me for the odd, subtle changes of his own. I try to control my own facial expression as I see how he's arranged himself, but it's not easy.

He looks kind of like ... a pimp?

It's not so much in his clothes—any more than usual, that is— but the way he's flanked by three beautiful female vampires around his throne, each touching him in some odd manner. The comparison is simply unavoidable; he's got a brunette, a redhead, and I guess Chelsea's hair is sort of dark blonde. The only thing that he needs is a fedora with an ostrich feather to complete the look. Renata stands behind him, one hand planted firmly on his shoulder as she stares at me in challenge. I'm not impressed.

Lovely Chelsea, looking every bit the supermodel in a mini-dress, thigh-high boots, and way too much makeup, perches on an arm of his throne, one of her long legs dangling over his in a blatantly intimate pose. She smiles invitingly at Edward, totally ignoring me. I may still be human, and she may be as beautiful as ever, but this time it doesn't bother me. All she has to show for a year of trying is a year's worth of humiliation for her and one gorgeous, utterly devoted husband for me. With that thought, I look around, but her own husband, Afton, is nowhere to be found.

On Aro's other side stands a small and very young-looking female, older in human years than Jane probably, but not by much. Her lovely red hair falls in long curls down her back, and she stands close enough to the throne for Aro to clasp her hand in his. Their posture seems to be utilitarian rather than affectionate, and it's clear that he wants to read her mind while he speaks to us. This must be Maggie, the lie-detecting vampire. Even though I know she's not a humanitarian, there's something about her I like right away. Her face is intelligent, honest, and open. She's more like us than they are; she does not fit in with this cold, hard group.

Something about Aro's posture, the whole setup of lining the halls with scary vampires, even his smug expression—the whole thing seems to reek of insecurity to me. It seems like overkill for dealing with one vampire and one human, talented or not. It reminds me of something Jasper said during one of our strategy sessions.

"_If I were Aro, I'd be worried, too. The two of you are playing a game he rigged, and to all appearances, you're winning__. Maybe y'all need to be a little less perfect from time to time? Not enough to do any real damage, but just enough to relax him."_

I see nothing but wisdom in Jasper's suggestion, but Alice and Edward are perfectionists to the core, and balk at the suggestion. Maybe we should have come in the way Aro wanted, and at least made an effort to seem intimidated. Edward had refused, saying we could pick another time to be less than impressive. It'll probably be up to me to screw up, but fortunately, that's unavoidable.

Marcus, ever dreamy, perks up a little when he sees us, and I return his ghost of a smile with a shy one of my own. I don't think anyone really notices, as all eyes are on either Aro or Edward. Aro himself stares at my husband with the same challenge that Renata's giving me, but with far more menace than she seems capable of producing.

"Edward and Isabella, how delightful," he says, snaking one arm around Chelsea's waist. "How did the tour go?"

"Mostly very well," I say, my voice shaking a bit as I remember all the little mistakes I made on tour, not to mention all the vampires.

He smiles, looking pleased. "Mostly?"

"Bella is just being modest, as usual." Edward replies smoothly. "The tour went very well, as you know. After our last concert she was even offered her first opera role."

"She was offered pocket change to sing an aria and look pretty," Aro smiles knowingly. "Hardly seems worth the drive to Padua. I don't know if I'm going to allow it. I think it will clash with her course schedule this year."

"Barbarina is a small role," Edward replies stiffly. "But it's still a role. And it's in one of the most well-known operas of all time."

"It's hardly anything to brag about."

I squeeze Edward's hand to try to let him know I'm okay. Both his hand and his face are completely unyielding, but I feel him relax minutely. I follow his gaze and notice Maggie's troubled expression.

"So I will be taking classes again this year?" I ask, genuinely relieved at the news.

"Don't you think you need to?" Aro asks, his gaze predatory.

"Of course," I nod. "I'm looking forward to it."

He has no idea how much I need something to do if we're staying here indefinitely. If he did, he'd probably insist on the opposite, and let me go crazy with almost nothing to do. Maggie smiles at me.

"Where are my manners?" Aro says sweetly. "Meet Maggie, the newest member of our guard."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Maggie," Edward says, his voice smooth, gentle.

Maggie smiles, obviously charmed, and Aro flinches. His gaze falls to our locked hands, and he stares for a moment.

"I see you've acquired some new jewelry," he says blandly. "I'm hurt. Or did my invitation get lost in the mail?"

"There weren't any invitations to lose, I'm afraid," Edward informs him. "It was a very small ceremony. Besides, you've said that human customs and ceremonies are beneath vampires."

"True," Aro responds, and though he looks like he wants to say something else, he seems to think better of it. "I suppose Carlisle was happy about it."

"He was."

"I'm not so thrilled that you encourage his pretense of humanity," Aro says dryly. "Never mind that. After your grand tour you must be a bit tired, Isabella. However, I would like to hear something from _you_, Edward, if you don't mind?"

As it was with our first meeting, nearly a year ago, a grand piano has been set up in the middle of the great hall. Maybe it's the fatigue of the tour talking, but as polite as his words are, I detect a little _dance-monkey-dance, sing-monkey-sing _in Aro's tone. I'm glad for once, not to be asked to sing something. Fortunately Edward doesn't share my attitude, and approaches the highly polished instrument with even more than his usual sensual confidence.

"Would you prefer Liszt or Chopin?" Edward asks, settling down at the keyboard. "Your choice."

"Liszt, if you don't mind," Aro answers, leaning forward. "He understood so much for a mere human. I would love to hear you interpret his work, Edward. To see if you understand half so well as he did."

He begins to play something I've only heard him working on once, and that's because it made me so nervous to hear it I asked him to stop. It's a ragged, disjointed, disturbingly fast piece that sounds both cheerful and demonic by turns. After a few minutes, there's a hauntingly beautiful minor-key segment that sounds like a slightly melancholic boredom. It shifts mood and speed again, always beautiful, always dark.

I look over to the dais and see Aro leaning in, total attention on the music. His face betrays an intense, almost personal, interest in the music, and I begin to feel a little queasy. The piece bothers me exactly as it did before, but now I realize why. It's Aro. The whole piece is precisely him. It must have been written _for_ him, about him, in all his complexity.

In all of Eleazar's recommended titles, nowhere does it ever say that it's remotely safe to be honest with a ruler, not like this. He doesn't seem offended though, as he stares in fascination at the way Edward plays, his beautiful face straining with concentration, hands and fingers blurring with the speed of his final, insane crashing notes. I don't know what this is as a message, but I find myself hoping beyond reason that Aro likes it.

I get my answer when Aro stands, leading the applause. Whatever message Edward was trying to send seems to have worked well, and I sensed a general decrease in tension as we left the hall without having to run some sort of gauntlet.

"What was _that_?" I whisper, once we're safely out of earshot.

"_That_," he says, just as quietly, "was necessary. He wanted to know that I'm taking him seriously."

"How much more seriously can we possibly take him?" I ask, stunned. "He's afraid of something. Something to do with us. Or you."

"Both of us," he admits.

"That's a scary thought," I say, sitting down on the couch. "I mean, it was bad enough when he just wanted us. Now I feel like he's training us with a whip and a chair. What's next, a cage?"

"It is a concern," he says, sitting next to me and taking my hand. "But try not to worry about it, okay?"

"On the other hand, Maggie seems okay," I whisper. "I think I see what you mean about her presence working in our favor. I've never seen Aro edit himself before."

Edward laughs bitterly. "Aro always edits, and frustratingly well, at that. He's so sure we've been lying to him that he's willing to bring in someone like her, but he's only limiting himself."

"I don't get it," I say softly. "Why doesn't he just try to touch you and read your mind?"

"Two reasons," he explains. "First, there's the illusion of civility to maintain. He insists that everyone has a choice, and for the most part, that's true, unless you have something they want. The Volturi have been successful and unchallenged because they manage to seem fair while keeping everyone terrified of them at the same time. It's impressively effective."

"And second?" I ask, mulling this information over.

"I'm faster than he is, and he knows it," Edward says grimly. "And so far, it hasn't been quite worth it to him to use his guards to force me to do something he'd rather I volunteer to do. As long as I let him think he has a chance of persuading us to stay, he probably won't try to force me."

_So far._

**~oЖo~**

Aro insists on starting lessons before classes officially begin, and he wastes no time getting into my press reviews. They lie across his piano in the form of newspaper clippings, and at first glance it seems the best ones are missing. There's also absolutely nothing from the Internet, not that I've ever noticed anyone down here online.

"Generally pretty good," he concedes, "but I'd say your ticket sales were uneven at best."

Edward and I exchange a look, and neither of us say anything in response to this obvious bait. The tour was freakishly successful for what it was, and we all know it. Getting defensive about it will only put me in a weak position.

"Shall we hear your little aria then?" he asks. "Your big opera debut is coming up, after all ... if I decide to let it happen."

I try not to feel threatened by this, and do a fairly decent job with the one aria that makes up most of the role of Barbarina, "L'ho perduta, me meschina" from _Le Nozze di Figaro. _It's a simple, but lovely song, and I take refuge in the sweetly mournful tune. When I stop, Aro's looking at me like a puzzle he wants to crack.

"Interesting, Isabella, very interesting," Aro says, a small smile playing at his lips. "I suppose you think all of this success is about your hard work and talent."

His eyes fairly sparkle, all Hannibal-Lectery, and I know I should be afraid, but I'm not.

Edward, however, isn't nearly as calm.

"Aro, don't," he whispers. _"Please."_

I barely hear the rest, because I see Aro looking at Edward in triumph, and something clicks. It's not _me_ he wants to crack. It's my overprotective vampire. The realization makes me sick when I think that it might not be the first time.

Fortunately, they're looking at each other in secret conversation, and don't see that I'm just seething with anger, having figured out what I've apparently been missing. I have no idea how long he's been doing this, but it doesn't seem like a new thing. It's probably why he was in Egypt to begin with, and there's nothing I can do to stop it, at least while I'm still human.

Aro's just standing there, preying on Edward through my weakness, wrapping him up in obligation as long as I'm caught in his web. Whatever he's saying silently to Edward isn't good, judging from Edward's pained expression. Whatever he's asking of him, Edward really doesn't want to do it.

And it really pisses me off.

"No, it's okay Edward," I interrupt, surprising them both. "Aro's right."

"I'm sorry," Aro asks, slowly turning his head toward me. The look he gives me is truly chilling. "What did you say?"

Edward shakes his head at me as soon as he's out of Aro's sight, but I ignore him.

"I said you're right," I repeat softly. I know they can both hear me.

Aro's eyes narrow at me, as if trying to figure out whether I'm _that dumb_ or _that brave. _I'm not that sure myself, but he seems more interested in figuring that out than coercing Edward into whatever nefarious thing he has in mind.

"You've chosen an interesting time to tell me that you have no faith in your abilities, Isabella," he says, staring at me flatly.

"It's not that..." I trail off, finally realizing that his statement was no invitation to continue.

Edward looks angry, Aro looks annoyed, and I'm starting to get nervous when there's an inhumanly loud knock on the door.

"This had better be good," Aro seethes under his breath. "Come in."

The door opens and Felix's massive frame more than fills the doorway.

"It's Heidi," he says furiously, as something—a sheep? really?—runs past through the hallway, bleating in terror. "She actually did it."

Aro goes to him quickly, pauses while taking the giant's hand, and turns to Edward, nostrils flared and teeth bared slightly.

"Do _not_ interfere," he hisses at him, and leaves in a blur of color.

I hear a whooshing sound and am a bit startled to see that Edward has gathered our music and is in the exact spot that Aro just vacated, looking just as alarmed.

"Edward, why are there sheep in the hall?"

"We have to go," he says with quiet intensity.

He shields me in the corridor as several vampires blur past us, barely recognizable at inhuman speed. I swear, I can hear several sheep bleating, their odd voices echoing ghostly off the polished marble walls, mixing with the metallic sounds of vampires' loud arguing.

The only one who seems uninterested in the uproar is Marcus, who sits reading his letters as usual as we pass him in the library. Edward says something to him, his words too fast for my comprehension, but I can see his lips moving. I think Marcus says something in return, but I don't catch any of it, but whatever it is doesn't really seem to bother him.

Edward shakes his head in resignation and gathers me in one arm. We move almost as inhumanly fast as the others, essentially flying up the stairs and slowing down only as we come into the view of humans. I feel nauseated from all the variations in speed, and by the time we get to our apartment, Edward's got the laptop out and running.

"What's happening?" I ask. "Is Heidi okay? What did he mean by telling you not to interfere?"

"She's fine, for now, though she'll certainly be punished for this little stunt. He didn't want me to interfere with her punishment." He gives me a sharp look as Alice appears in a chat window, looking just as intense as everyone else.

"What will they do to her? And what was she trying to do?"

"She brought _actual_ sheep instead of humans for their feeding," Alice answers for him. "She's been thinking about doing it to make a statement, but didn't have any set plans. Today Felix said something about Demetri, and she got angry. I barely had any notice myself, Edward. It only took her fifteen minutes to steal a whole herd, and another ten to get them into Volterra."

"You saw this happening?" I ask.

"Not this exactly," Alice admits. "I just saw Heidi rebelling against her role in the Volturi. I'd get flashes: sometimes I'd see sheep in the hall, sometimes I just saw her arguing with Aro."

"Alice, you said Afton might ask Chelsea to leave tonight. Is it still true?" Edward asks, as Jasper joins her in the small square window. "I don't like this timing. Aro's going to be angry enough as it is."

"Afton has made up his mind," Alice nods, looking more worried than I've ever seen her before. "Everything's prepared, Edward. Be ready for anything, and be careful."

**~oЖo~**

By the next morning, Alice's warning has turned Edward into a complete and total basket case.

"What can I do?" I ask.

"I want you to leave," Edward says immediately. "I can't control what's going to happen, and it's driving me crazy. If we find you a car or a bicycle or something maybe we can arrange a pickup, and you'll be safe."

"Not that," I say, watching him pace around our living room like a barely caged lion. "Alice said that if I leave and nobody can find me, you're going to be in huge trouble. I'm not going anywhere without you, and that's final."

Fortunately, Alice and the rest agree with me, or else my threat would be completely hollow. Edward's pacing is driving me a little nuts, too, and his constant calls to Alice don't seem to be calming him down.

"Maybe Marcus could help," I suggest, and Edward looks at me guiltily.

"That's our last resort, Bella," he says. "The kind of help Marcus can give, I don't know that you want."

"I want us to stay together," I insist. "I want you to survive. I'd prefer that we not live here forever, but that's the _real_ last resort, isn't it? Outside of that I don't care what happens."

"Bella, I don't think you understand. I—"

I hear what sounds like a flock of birds flying through the stairwell, and Edward moves in a flash, suddenly standing directly in front of me.

The front door opens to reveal Jane, with Alec at her side. They look so childlike, it takes a second to register why their smiles are so chilling.

"Aro wants to see you," she says calmly to Edward, not looking at me. "Bring the girl," she adds dismissively.

We follow her, not to any passage we've ever used before, but to a grate in our own basement. I look at Edward, who seems unnerved by this discovery, and within what seems like mere moments we're taken to a luxurious chamber I've never seen before, where Aro and Caius stand huddled in a deep and swift conversation.

"I'm keeping Bella with me," Edward states without preamble. "I'll do whatever you want, but she stays with me."

Aro eyes us speculatively, and something in Edward's expression must convince him that it's not worth the argument.

"Of course, Edward," he replies calmly. "I wasn't going to suggest otherwise."

Maggie, sitting in a corner, scowls at this, and even I can tell that what he says is a lie. She seems strangely discontent, compared to the first time I saw her.

"As you doubtless already know, Chelsea and Afton have gone missing," Aro continues. "Which might not have happened had we not been so rudely interrupted last night by Heidi's little demonstration."

"As soon as Demetri calls in, we'll be able to find them," Caius says. "What we need from you is to find out when they were last seen, and by whom. Did they tell anyone they were leaving, and _why_."

His fist smashes against the marble podium in front of them, sending papers, tiny chips of marble and dust everywhere.

"Did you put them up to this?" Aro asks Edward with dark suspicion.

"How could I?" Edward practically sputters. "I've only seen Chelsea in your presence and I haven't seen Afton at all since we returned."

It seems to pass the Maggie test, because she merely lifts a single eyebrow when Aro glares at her questioningly. He narrows his eyes at her in response, clearly unsatisfied.

"He hasn't seen them, it's true," she clarifies, an edge to her voice.

"Be rational, Aro," Caius says in such a low voice I barely hear him. "He's a mind-reader, nothing more. This situation is unstable enough as it is without making wild guesses. Marcus said that Chelsea's loyalty to you was unwavering the last time he saw you together. This can probably be resolved fairly quickly once we find them."

"I need her. _We need Chelsea."_

"And we'll find her once Demetri calls in, but now is the time for logic and reason, Aro. Restrain yourself."

Aro is not calm, restrained, rational, or reasonable. Aro is a dark storm cloud, swirling in anger.

I feel wrong for witnessing this. It's far too personal, and Aro is too powerful and too vulnerable right now. If Eleazar's books on dealing with rulers have taught me anything, it's to avoid situations exactly like this.

"Just find out what you can," Aro replies, turning to Edward. "And I want a full, detailed report when you return. Otherwise I'll assume that Isabella's presence is slowing you down, and I'll have to hold her for safekeeping. Start with Marcus."

"I can see that it's important to you," Edward says, edging me toward the exit. "I'll do whatever I can to find them."

"He's telling the truth," Maggie says, looking from Aro to Edward.

"I'll be watching, and listening, Edward," Aro warns. "I have spies everywhere."

Maggie holds her tongue, but there are storm clouds in her eyes, too.

**~oЖo~**

We spend several hours walking around the palace and the streets of Volterra, so that Edward can listen to any thoughts I assume he has no intention of reporting. As suggested, we begin with Marcus, who sits in the library as usual, but instead of his usual thousand-yard stare, we're greeted with the sight of him studying a chessboard as if he's never seen one before. It looks like a game in progress of some sort, whether he's playing against himself or was interrupted.

"I know why you're here," he says, without looking at us. "And you're wasting your time. Aro wants information I either don't have or I've told him already."

Edward surprises me by approaching Marcus quickly, moving so close to his side it seems like they're about to hug. The move seems to surprise Marcus as well, because he glances up sharply at him.

_Sharply._

Marcus never does anything sharply, but that's what's happening. It's like the difference between seeing someone in a dream, when they're sort of fuzzy around the edges and changeable, compared to the sharp definition of waking life. Only it's Marcus who seems to have woken up.

"How unstable is he?" Edward asks, his voice barely audible to my ears. "Is Bella safe?"

Marcus looks at me, then back at Edward. He says nothing out loud but looks very troubled. Their speech quickens until I hear nothing, but the intensity of their conversation tells me everything. Edward looks like he wants to hit something. I hope it's not Marcus, because he's pretty much our strongest ally.

"You don't know what you ask of me," Marcus whispers harshly. "There will be consequences you cannot imagine."

"Can I trust that Bella is safe?" Edward repeats, pleading slowly enough for me to understand. "You must know something, please help me. If I don't come back with information about Chelsea and Afton, what you're thinking about will happen. Think, Marcus. What would you do if you were me?"

Marcus shakes his head for a moment, but it doesn't look like refusal. It looks like confusion, or denial.

"One thing Aro knows but may be neglecting to admit to himself," Marcus says slowly. "Is that Demetri's loyalties to Aro are divided when it comes to Chelsea. He owes her many favors."

"Given Chelsea's talent to manipulate relationships and Demetri's fondness for married women, I don't doubt this to be true," Edward replies, once again resigned. "I will try to remind him of what this could mean. Thank you, Marcus."

**~oЖo~**

By the time we have to return, we don't have much more information than when we started, and Alice's assurances that she sees neither Chelsea's return to Volterra, nor any executions. Even so, the general atmosphere is tense. Without Chelsea, the Volturi could fall apart, starting with Marcus and Aro. I know it's what we've been working for, but now that it's happening, it's more chaotic than any of us imagined.

Charlie always said to watch out for paranoid people, because they're the ones who are most likely to snap and start shooting people for no good reason. When I mention this to Alice, she only confirms it.

"Be careful, please" she warns. "Aro's changing his mind so quickly that anything could set him off. Tell him anything you want about Chelsea and Afton, as long as it's the truth. Apparently Demetri has something of a blind spot when it comes to deeper ocean floors."

"You think that's where they went?" Edward asks incredulously.

"That's what Demetri's decided to say," Alice replies. "I saw Chelsea call him after they left. Demetri's going to claim that he's been out of cell phone signal while they get to wherever they're going."

"Won't Maggie be able to see it's a lie?" I ask.

"Her powers are like Edward's," she explains. "Demetri would have to be present in order for her to say for sure. Anyway, now that Chelsea's gone, Maggie's starting to feel a little homesick for her coven. It took a lot of work to break them up, and she's wavering on her decision to stay."

When we get to the great hall, many of the Volturi have congregated, and seem to be speaking in whispers that sound like the gentlest wind in a field of flowers. Gossip seems to be the only air in the room, and it swirls around us, reeking of rancid-sweet venom. I can't understand a word they're saying, but I'm pretty sure it's not good from the way Edward gathers me closer.

I'm somewhat relieved to see a depressed-looking but whole Heidi, flanked by Sulpicia and the rest of the humanitarians. They seem equally relieved to see us, and it makes me think that the timing of this disappearance benefits us all. From the way they look at us, and how Edward nods at them warmly in greeting, I think they're here for us, and my heart swells with gratitude.

Aro sits restlessly on his throne, his pimp image from before severely diminished by the lack of Chelsea. I don't know if that's because Chelsea looks so much like a hooker, or maybe because it's hard for a man to look that way when his sainted wife is in the room, but Renata and Maggie just look nervous. Marcus sits next to him, people-watching with more attention than I've ever seen him pay before. He too looks restless, but far less agitated than Aro. He looks worried, and almost angry.

Caius doesn't seem to be around, but Aro looks more like a Shakespearean tragedy waiting to happen, grasping his oracle and sitting next to the brother I strongly suspect he once betrayed in the worst way possible.

"Well?" Aro asks tersely. "Don't make me wait."

"There were a few witness accounts from human minds of the two vampires leaving the city on Via Porta Diana, heading North East."

"You think I don't know that already?" he snaps waspishly. "Give me something of value. Now."

Edward pinches the bridge of his nose, and growls when Felix approaches us.

"Chelsea and Demetri—"

"Try again," Aro states flatly. "Now, Edward."

"I don't know this for sure," Edward says angrily, "But I believe that Afton was hiding something from you, some _personal _offense. I don't know what it was, but he has been avoiding you since before we left."

"Careful there," hisses Caius, on the way to his own throne. "False accusations are a punishable offense."

"I'm not accusing Afton of anything, because I don't know what he was supposed to have done," Edward insists. "I do know that Afton was afraid that Aro would want to read his mind."

"Prove it," Caius says.

"He tells the truth," Maggie insists, and I'm starting to see what Edward meant by her talent working in our favor.

"Afton and Chelsea are missing," Edward replies with terse politeness. "Witnesses saw them leave of their own accord, via a northeast passage. If you want information from my talent, I'm more than happy to tell you what I read. I'm not accusing Afton of anything besides being afraid of Aro."

"What else?" Aro demands. "Where did they go? Did she choose _him _over us?"

"I don't know where they went," Edward says. "But I'd bet money that when you finally hear from Demetri, he'll say they're off the grid."

"What do you mean, _off the grid?" _Aro demands as a deathly silence falls over the Volturi.

I hold Edward's hand so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

"Breathe, Bella," Edward whispers.

"Yes, _Bella, _breathe," Aro taunts. "Answer me, boy, and stop looking after your pet. Demetri can find anyone, anywhere. Everyone knows that."

"Yes, that is what everyone knows, isn't it, Aro?" Edward's head snaps up, his temper barely in check. "You really want me to say it, in front of everyone?"

"Just something else you can hold over my head, isn't it?" Aro laughs bitterly. "You don't know anything."

Maggie flinches, and Aro drops her hand as if it's on fire. She backs away, rubbing her hand, and I can see cracks in it slowly start to heal. A deadly quiet fills the hall as Aro focuses on Edward with a murderous rage.

"I know it's you, Edward Cullen," Aro says, pointing. "Demetri. Afton. Chelsea, who's next? I don't know _how_ you did it, but I know you did it. You got Demetri to break the treaty. How you got that coward Afton to convince Chelsea to run away with him I don't know, but you know what she means to the Volturi, don't you? You're trying to destroy the Volturi. You're trying to destroy me."

Sulpicia steps out of a group of women, huddled together like crows on a wire. Her pale skin gleams against her straight, dark hair, and the contrast reminds me of the nuns who used to light candles and say the rosary with my grandmother. She holds her hand out, as if trying to calm a rabid dog. It seems appropriate.

"Aro, please," she says soothingly. "May I have a word in private?"

"A word, dear wife? You'd like _a word_?" he replies mockingly. "You think I don't know you? You're on _his _side. I've read it in your thoughts: you admire him."

"Sulpicia is your loyal wife, and she's right," Caius agrees, studying Aro's face intensely for the first time. "Let us go into chambers and discuss the matter, just the three of us, and Sulpicia."

"The worst part about this is that I knew it all along," Aro laughs, ignoring him. "I could see it all along, the young upstart, the new man, come to take what I have. You think you're the first, Edward? Did you really think you could out-smart me? You're an infant with a little talent. You think you can lead the Volturi? You can't even keep your wife safe."

Marcus recoils as though he's been punched in the face, but Aro doesn't even notice.

"Do not be alarmed," Sulpicia whispers to us. "We know what to do."

"Shut UP, woman!" Aro roars. "Has your diet made you so malnourished that you've lost your ability to whisper properly? I am not having an _episode_, you fools, _we are under attack,_ and I'm the only one who can see it!"

"Aro, please—" Marcus begins, but his calm words are quickly drowned out.

"He's got you all on his side, doesn't he? He did this," he turns to glare at Edward again. "You did, I see it. You did exactly what I would have done in your position. It's quite clever; you went for the right ones. You took Afton away from Caius, and Chelsea and Demetri from me. You took Carlisle away from me, too. You're the reason he left, and you're attacking us now, because you think you're better than me. I see it all, Edward. You may have fooled everyone else, but you haven't fooled me."

I really want to point out that it's more like self-defense, but Aro can't seem to help himself, and the simple beauty of Alice's plan becomes clear right before our eyes. Looking around, it seems like half of the vampires have left, and nobody remaining looks at Edward like he's guilty. They all look embarrassed, because they think Aro's losing his mind.

"That doesn't make sense, Aro," Caius reminds him. "Carlisle left before Edward's human life even began. Come, let us retire. You are distraught, it's understandable. You need to feed. This is Heidi's fault. Heidi, bring Aro something substantial immediately."

Heidi seems anxious, but Sulpicia nods at her. She leaves, and I try to keep the nausea at bay. It feels like everything is closing in on us, in cold, hard marble, and we'll inevitably be crushed. The last thing Edward needs is me falling apart right now, so I shift on my feet, taking deep calming breaths.

"Yes, that's it," Aro says, his eyes on me as he seems to calm down. "I just need to drink something substantial. Some real human blood will settle my nerves."

Edward growls, putting me behind his back.

"We honor our contracts, Aro," Caius warns. "Heidi will be back with your human shortly. Do not do something you'll regret in front of so many witnesses."

"Yes, we do have a contract, don't we?"Aro says, still glaring at Edward. "One that leaves me with something you need. No matter how many people you win over, Bella's mortality is mine."

"I don't want what you have, Aro. I only want Bella, and the freedom to choose."

"You're free to choose now. Pledge loyalty to me, and all your problems disappear. The contract is quite clear, Edward," Aro hisses, the air around him fairly crackling with his unpredictable energy. "If you were to _become_ one of my guard, you would be free to change Isabella whenever you like. But as you are a Cullen, and not one of the Volturi, you will have to wait for me to decide. Choose me, and Isabella will be with you for all eternity. If not..."

The threat is clear, and hangs like a dagger over my head. Everyone's watching Aro, except for Marcus, whose head lifts as though he just heard someone calling his name. He seems torn.

"Do you know what I think, boy?" Aro continues, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I think I can keep this up far longer than you can. And I've got all the time in the world. Unlike Isabella. She's so _fragile. _Anything could happen to her. At any time."

He starts laughing, and Marcus finally seems to make up his mind.

"You go too far, Brother," Marcus interrupts, reaching out to him. "You will only hurt the Volturi if you continue like this. Edward and Bella belong with us; they will see this in time."

"Don't tell me how far is too far," Aro snaps, not taking the offered hand. "I _am_ the Volturi. You can't suddenly decide to _care_, Marcus."

Marcus looks bewildered, but only for a moment.

"Your fears about Edward are unfounded. He doesn't want to rule, Aro. He doesn't want any of this. You have only to touch me to see the truth in that. Touch Maggie, if you don't believe me."

This turns out to be the wrong thing to say, because Maggie is nowhere to be found, and it sends Aro right over the edge of a dark abyss. His face transforms, his features twisting into pure outrage, and the real storm begins.

He rushes at Edward, who pushes me toward the humanitarians, while somehow staying out of Aro's path. Everything looks blurred for a moment, but I find myself sheltered behind Sulpicia while Caius and Felix hold Aro back.

Jane, ever helpful, smiles at Edward, and I feel it in my gut as he crumples to the floor, his beautiful face distorted with pain.

"Stop it!" I yell at her, but she only smirks, keeping her vicious gaze on Edward. "Somebody make her stop, she's torturing him!"

"I told you I could still hurt you, human," she says, reminding me of her pledge of last year. Her voice sounds robotic, and yet somehow pleased.

I struggle against Sulpicia's arms as she strokes my hair.

"She'll stop eventually," she whispers sadly in my ear. "Edward is strong."

"That's my good little Jane," Aro laughs. "I knew _you_ would be loyal to me."

"I can fix this," Marcus says over my shoulder in a low whisper, and I startle, not having seen him move toward me. I don't know how I hear him over Edward's screaming, but I do. "Will you let me help you?"

"Please," I whisper, just as low. "Please Marcus, help him."

I'm unable to look away from Edward, his beautiful features contorted in agony. The room is in utter chaos, with Sulpicia and Caius both speaking very quickly in some ancient language to Aro, and Jane smiling at Edward in such a way that I swear, if I ever get the chance, I will absolutely fucking end her.

I wish I could shield Edward as I do myself, and I try, blindly willing my shield to do something, anything to protect him instead of me.

"Please!" I whisper again, and I almost think it's working, because Edward manages to look at me, his cries dying down.

Jane growls, glaring at him, but he clenches his teeth together and somehow deliberately nods at me in one sharp jerk of his head before the screaming starts again. I have no idea what he wants me to do, but it seems like he's giving me some kind of signal.

"Forgive me, Isabella," Marcus whispers, and the world falls apart.

I get a little dizzy, and a weird sensation comes over me, like the time I was four and I ran into Renee while she was carrying a whistling teapot. Or the time I was seven, and I fell down a flight of stairs at school, breaking my right leg in two places and my left arm. Or any of the many times I hit my head or broke a toe. There's always that one out-of-time moment when you know something horrible is happening, but you don't feel it quite yet.

And then I do. I've had concussions, contusions, broken bones, bee stings, and a big burn on my chest that took a full week to scab over, and if I had experienced all those injuries simultaneously they wouldn't come close to the white-hot agony radiating from my neck, rushing through my veins like a flash flood of molten lava.

And now there are two people screaming.

One of them is me.

I can't stop screaming, but I can still see and hear as the fire spreads. I look down at the source of the fire and see Marcus at my neck, his teeth embedded in my skin as a thin line of crimson streaks beneath my blouse.

One by one the vampires become aware of what's just happened in this previously ignored part of the room. Jane stares at me in fascination, and Edward's screaming stops altogether as soon as her eyes leave him. At least one small part of my mind experiences relief, knowing that Jane's hold over him has been broken.

Aro's face twists once more into a mask of outrage, and everything begins to fade, like it's happening far, far away from me.

_Yelling far away, or right behind me. Somewhere outside of the pain. Marcus yelling. He doesn't yell._

"_I did this for your own good, Aro," he calls out in a clear, strong voice. "You will thank me later. Without Chelsea here you know you don't think as clearly about these things." _

"_Marcus has a point," Caius says, his voice not as loud but cutting through like a diamond-tipped arrow. "We need to stabilize Volterra. If Edward and Bella are gone for a while we can bring back Demetri, find Chelsea and regroup. The contract has not been broken. The contract is still in effect."_

_Fuck Caius and fuck his contracts. Doesn't he know that I'm on fire? I try to get away from it, but it's inside me. I try to claw at my skin, but nothing helps. This is so much worse than anything I ever imagined._

"_Just take her, Edward," Marcus says, and somehow I am moving._

_Cloth around my mouth and _his_ touch surrounds me, the only thing that makes sense here._

Everything turns upside-down and I focus on Edward's touch. His touch, it soothes. Everything else is pure hell. I try to hide in the points of contact, his skin on mine, but it doesn't remotely take away the pain. It just gives me one tiny sliver of control so I can stop screaming and protect him from the sounds of my anguish. I can't stop my body from twisting in the flames, and he has to shift me more than once.

"I'm so sorry, love," he says, over and over again. I don't dare open my mouth, for fear of screaming, until I must take a breath.

I gulp and gasp for air, but my lungs are on fire, too, and we're outside. All of Volterra, or at least her rooftops and sky. Stars and planets whirl in my vision as time collapses as a concept. I have no idea how long it's like this, this chaos of a blurring, blazing world, until a familiar voice breaks the pattern.

Another voice, calling Edward.

"_Carlisle!" _

There's painted metal, and propellers. The blades of a helicopter.

"_I'm going to try morphine, put her down." _

_Screaming again, and then it's gone almost as soon as it started. _

"She needs me, too."

Tiny threads of numbness enter various points in my body, a cool breeze whispering over lava streams.

"Do it, Edward. It will make it go faster. Alice woke a full day before Jasper."

"I can't hurt her, Carlisle."

The numbness spreads, and somehow I manage to turn my head and look at him.

"Please, Edward," I rasp through the cloth. "Please."

"I'm sorry, Bella," he rasps, bending down to kiss me.

I see just the flash of his teeth, and a syringe in Carlisle's hand before the world explodes into fire all over again.

_Pain, again, but this time I know it's coming, and I welcome it. Engines roar and arms tighten around me. _

"_It won't last forever, Bella, just hold on. Everything's going to be okay. When you wake up it won't hurt anymore, and we'll be far, far away. Together."_

"_She's going to be fine, Edward. Just listen to her heart. You won't have to worry anymore, she'll be stronger than all of them."_

_It's a small comfort in hell, but I'll take it. If I make it through I may be the fiercest one in the jungle after all. _

**~oЖo~**

**End of Act II**

**A/N: I almost feel bad for Aro. I mean, just because he's paranoid and delusional doesn't mean he's not almost right. One last act to go!**


	38. The Drums

**Act III**

**Chapter 38 The Drums**

**Thanks as always to the lovely and talented NelsonSmandela, and to Algie for the music. Also, shout out to Feisty, in more ways than one.**

**I loved all of your reviews and am still working on replying to them all. It took me a while to change gears to vampbella, and I appreciate your patience and enthusiasm more than I can say.**

**Chapter Music**

**Gorecki, "Lento e Largo"**

**www (DOT)youtube(DOT)c om/watch?v =YWUN-UE8e HM**

**The Knife, "Marble House"**

**www(Dot)youtube(Dot)com/watch?v=-WhQ5TiBHVk**

**Hillary Hahn plays Paganini's "Caprice No. 24"**

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=Lh3D_ujMjtM**

**Arcade Fire, "Ready to Start"**

**www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=3-0WxQzIXTs**

**Disclaimers: 1) Stephenie Meyer owns twilight. 2) I'm a vegetarian in RL, but you wouldn't know it by reading this chapter.**

**~oЖo~**

_Calling it pain would be like comparing a hurricane to a gentle rain with a cool breeze. This feels more like I've been fed to a volcano, like my blood has been replaced by some tidal fire sweeping through my veins. It's not like _I feel pain; _it's more like I get lost, and the pain becomes me._

_I lose everything to it._

_The burning never stops. It is everything, no room for anything else but agonizing sensation. There is no escape, no music, no love, no Charlie, no Renee, no Alice, no Edward. _

_Not even Bella. I'm like an animal, unable to focus on anything but this pain._

_Then, there are no words at all._

**~oЖo~**

_Just as words begin to return, I'm aware of a touch. At first, I only notice it because it's gone, and everything is so much worse. But then the touch comes back, and there's music, too. It's loud, but it's good._

_Everything else is hell._

_No, I take that back, not everything. There's a drum, too. It's beating far too loud and fast for the music, and I want it to stop, but by now I can't even move or scream. The drum gets louder and faster, until I think I'm going to lose my mind. The drumbeat roars in my ears, and his touch is more, and I think I hear him crying. _

_The fire recedes as the drumbeat gets louder, and I want it, even though it's all around me, growing louder as the pain gets smaller, and words flood back into my mind like tiny little ants at hyper-speed. _

_The pain dwindles, smaller but infinitely more fierce, until it sharpens into a diamond point, chasing every fugitive drop of human blood through veins and arteries.__ Everything swirls around the rhythm of the beat, except for the pain in my throat, which is not as bad, but consistent. The rhythm gets faster, and the beat gets louder, and it feels like the diamond point of concentrated pain chases the drum until the two become the same thing. _

_With one final _thump, _the chase ends, and all that remains is the burning column of air where the music should be__. _

The air is hot and sultry, but at least it's not fire. It smells, though. All kinds of smells— wood, bleach, decay, and growth. It's not so much an issue of the odors being good or bad, but simply a matter of overwhelming intensity, so I hold my breath. It helps ease the burning, too.

Someone speaks, a muffled sort of booming. The voice is familiar, but different. It's not in the room, but it's loud as hell.

"She's waking up ... Just give her a minute. I'll go get Jasper."

Sounds of crashing, stomping feet, and a door slamming. It's incredibly annoying.

"Bella?" I'm supposed to know this word, this voice, this person yelling at me.

I'm Bella. Yes, I remember that.

After a second.

I open my eyes, and darkness explodes into a riot of color. Again it's just too much, so I close my eyes again.

"Someone close the curtains; she's not used to the light yet."

"Bella?" Still yelling, but it's smoother, and this voice is just right.

But then someone touches me, and I have two very strong, completely conflicting reactions.

Some wild new part of me, outraged that anyone dares to touch me, snarls without my conscious permission. The rest of me recognizes the touch, needs it. This is the touch that got me through hell.

I open my eyes again, and _he_'s there. He looks worried and maybe hopeful, with his hand hovering over me now, not actually making contact. I stare at his hand, then his face, and back again, and the growling stops.

_I_ stop growling, I mean.

Looking at him with human eyes and seeing him now is like the difference between hearing an opera on an old tinny record player and seeing it live from the front row. Or like someone famous said, the difference between a lightning bug and actual lightning. His face, however familiar, seems infinitely more perfect now in bone structure, each ridge and hollow a miracle of human architecture. His hair seems more lush, richer in color, his eyes even more soulful than before. I reach for him, remembering his name.

"Edward?" I ask, and immediately cover my ears. I'm even louder than they are. "Why is everything so loud?"

"It's okay," he says in what I now realize is a whisper. "You're okay."

"It takes a while to get used to it," another one says. I recognize that voice, too.

I turn my head, and I'm up on my feet, too fast, my back against the wall, my instincts overcharged. I know and love these people, but it's all too intense. It feels like the volume on all my senses just got turned up all of a sudden_._

"This is so weird," I panic. "I want to hug you and run away at the same time."

"You're doing great," Esme says soothingly. "We all understand how you feel. We remember."

Edward approaches me slowly, his hand out and his eyes encouraging.

I want to take his hand, but I can't, and it's so frustrating I could scream.

"You can touch me," I whisper against the hurt in his eyes, ashamed of myself.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and wait for it.

And wait. And wait.

I open one eye, and he's barely closer. At this rate, it'll never happen.

"Come on," I urge, exasperated.

He waits until I step forward just a little, and then he sort of swirls around me, or at least it feels that way. One of his arms curls around my back and he takes my hand in his, kissing my cheek softly as we walk toward our family. Part of me still wants to bolt, but I'm holding it in better now. After a moment, I'm able to focus on his touch, and how it's different now.

Or rather, how different I am, because that's the real problem. I have very little context for anything, it seems.

His touch, his skin—it's like everything else. It's familiar in form, but the content has changed significantly. My mind struggles to find a comparison in my dim human memories, and I think of full-color photos as opposed to say, black and white, or maybe even rough drawings. His skin, once chilly and so much more solid than mine, feels not only warmer, as I had once expected, but just _more_, somehow. It's like I can feel every pore, every tiny diamond shape nature saw fit to etch into his hand on the cellular level. My mind automatically counts the individual hair follicles at this wondrous point of contact, my brain carving this detail and other vast amounts of information from my overloaded senses in a new, complex method of thought.

"Okay?" he asks, as a sound from outside disrupts my concentration, and I start.

"What's that drumming?" I ask, grasping at my throat.

"Jasper's bringing you something," Carlisle informs me.

I could seriously kill someone to get to this rhythm, so that's good news. I try to control myself, but that thumping is too compelling.

"It's so beautiful. I want it."

"I know, Bella," Edward seems to know what I mean, even if I don't. "Come on, it's just outside."

The drum gets louder. It's hypnotic, sensual. And my mouth starts watering.

"I want it," I repeat, as we move closer, floorboards creaking underfoot. "I need to taste it. God, can you _taste_ music as a vampire?"

He laughs—a low, dark sound. I want to taste that, too.

I feel the drumming echoing in my bones, and everything disappears except this new, frantic thing that is also me, and the horrible, burning thirst that came with it. My vision blurs, and I'm on it, tasting it, sinking my teeth in, the liquid heat of it coating my burning throat so sweetly.

The beat stays strong at first, even speeding up, but then it starts to fade, all too soon. As the drum slows and my frenzy calms, the words collide in my mind, and things start to make sense.

Of course, they were heartbeats. This particular drum in my arms is really a deer, or rather a buck I guess, from the look of the horns. Its eyes are flat and glassy, and something about that unsettles me, but not in the way I think it should. I'm more curious than apologetic.

"I know, it doesn't taste all that good," Jasper apologizes. "Sorry, I wanted to get you something a little tastier, but those things are harder to bring back alive."

I shake my head.

"It's not that," I try to explain. "I feel like I should be upset that I killed it. Or at least feel sad about the eyes. I think the human me would have felt guilty, but I don't. Does that make sense?"

"You're not human anymore," Carlisle offers gently. "It's normal to feel disoriented about the changes to your nature."

Jasper frowns, and for some reason it makes me growl in irritation. Like I'm going to hit him or something. I do kind of want to hit something. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"I'm only getting a fraction of your emotions," he explains, to my irritation. I don't want him knowing anything I feel.

"Probably just the echo of them pumping through the endocrine system," Carlisle explains. "Most of the emotions are processed directly in the brain."

There's a gentle tug in my mind from a murky human memory, and I pull it out with some effort.

"Just like Alec," I say softly, catching Alice's curious glance. "But you saw that, right?"

"All I saw was you telling everyone that Alec made your body numb," she corrects.

"And you told me not to," I recall, with effort. "What would have happened if I had told the truth?"

Alice grimaces and Edward curses at the same time. They start talking among themselves, but I'm too thirsty, cranky, and distracted to pay attention to stuff that never even happened.

"Oh, my," I breathe, looking at the darkening sky. Mesmerized, I wander off the porch, far enough to get a better view. "Look at the stars! It's like I've got binoculars on, only better! I mean, everything is totally small, like on a normal scale, but I can see everything in so much detail."

"Just wait till you see the Aurora Borealis," Jasper says. "There are colors you've never seen before, kid."

I believe it.

"So, where are we?" I ask, spinning slowly. "And how is it that I can see _everything_? The sky is so dark, but I can see the tiniest leaves and pine needles on those trees over there."

"We're in the Yukon, Canada." Edward shadows me warily, which is annoying until I look at him again.

Because, _damn_.

Lust curls inside me like a hot fist, and the flames in my throat might have some serious competition for my attention. The look of concern shifts into a sly, sexy smirk, and it's all I can do not to jump him, witnesses be damned.

"Okay, I felt _that," _Jasper laughs, and I feel utterly mortified.

"_Jasper_," Alice whispers, this time actually whispering. I can barely hear it.

Usually I'd blush about now, and it's weird, because instead of heat I feel something happening, but like everything else it's different in nature. It feels just as involuntary and subtle as a blush, but not like heat.

"Huh, that's weird," he continues. "The little I did feel is gone now, but her expression says it should still be there."

"Good," I mutter, and relax.

"Nope, now it's back again," he observes curiously.

And I'm growling again. Damn, this is really embarrassing, not to mention confusing. I feel like I'm a volatile substance, like I could explode any minute. And I absolutely hate being treated like that is true.

"I'm still kind of thirsty," I say, changing the subject. "Is there more?"

They're all watching me, and I can't stand it. I edge away from them as they speculate about my shield, and the feral thing in me gets distracted again. My head whips back to the sparse woods beyond our clearing, and I listen closely to the rhythm. All those _drums._ Just calling to me.

Venom pools in my mouth again, and I stare into the darkness, my sharp eyes picking up movement of long, spindly legs, fur and a horn. One of the drums gets faster, and my eyes seek out any movement in the direction of the noise.

Experimentally I inhale through my nose, and the flame returns, along with some tantalizing scents. Green things that smell good, but not like food. Like _blood. _But I do smell that, too, and I need to chase it.

The air changes, and scent flows with it. It's fear, and it smells delicious. I crouch reflexively, waiting for something to happen. The animal bolts, and something inside me makes me need to chase.

"More," I hiss.

My body takes over, legs stretching out in front of me, the air parting in a refreshing, almost liquid manner. It's cooler than the air inside, and the dirt feels like softest powder under my bare feet.

"I'm pretty sure it's safe," Alice confirms, her voice dwindling with each step I take. "No humans in that direction."

"Stay with her, Edward," I hear Carlisle calling. "We'll catch up."

_If you can, _the new part of me says, pumping my legs so fast that the deep dark green of the woods begins to streak past me in bewildering detail.

The familiar part of me just laughs, delighted in this new speed and strength.

**~oЖo~**

"You shouldn't have to do that for me," I frown, as Edward buries the giant caribou I just drained.

Watching him carefully, I start clawing at the ground in imitation, amazed at how easily the rocks and dirt break apart under my slightest touch. It's almost a game to see how fast I can go, but Edward does it faster. He gets three carcasses in the ground by the time I've finished one.

"There are enough for both of us to have plenty of work to do," he smiles at me. "Besides, I like showing you these things."

The warmth in his tone captures my attention, and once again I feel overwhelmed with the intensity of my response. I stare at him for a moment, hopelessly pulled in by the adoration in his eyes, the erotic curve of his lips, his smile, his—

I launch myself at him, ignoring his muffled "oof" of surprise.

"You're so delicious," I pant, licking the side of his neck after our teeth collide too many times for comfort. "I can't take it."

"Gentle," he grunts, and when I pull away I can see tiny fissures in his perfect lips.

"No!" I cry, finding myself against a tree several yards away. "Oh, Edward, what did I do?"

I hear the soft perforated ripping of cloth fibers separating, and look down to find animal blood on my hands and all over my torn clothes.

I'm a violent, disgusting mess and I just hurt the man I love.

He stands, and dusts himself off with his hands, moving in a way that makes me think he's in a lot of pain, but hiding it. Guilt overwhelms me, and I curl into myself, trying to hide.

"Hey, I'm fine, see?" he says gently, taking my face in his hands. "It's not permanent."

The little cracks have already healed, but the memory of them remains solidly in my mind. I'll never be able to forget it, either.

"I can't believe I hurt you, Edward," I repeat, horrified. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing that wasn't wrong with any of us at first, Bella," Carlisle says, stepping out of the trees, Esme following not far behind him. "There's a reason you're called a 'newborn.' It gets messy."

"I didn't think it would be this bad," I admit, looking down at my ruined clothes. "Everything from before feels so vague compared to now that it's almost like I can't remember anything, and I feel so... so..."

The rest of my vampire family filters into the clearing, casting me sympathetic looks.

"Sharp?" Emmett asks. "High definition?"

"Disorienting?" Rosalie adds. "Annoying?"

"Weird?" Jasper grins. "You feel like you're on a different planet?"

"Or from a different planet," Esme smiles.

"But kind of good," Alice says from several feet up, sitting cross-legged on the branch of a raggedy-looking fir, like some transcendental yogi. "Because you're strong, all your senses are so improved, and you feel invincible!"

"And that's really weird, too," Edward says soothingly.

It's slightly annoying that they're all so _knowing_,but it's comforting, too. If they all came out of it okay, I probably will, too.

"Yeah, all that," I agree, looking at my hands, all red and gory from where I must have gripped the animals too hard. "Unrelentingly so. And it's really weird to _want _to drink blood. I used to get woozy just looking at it. Now all of a sudden I see blood and think 'yummy.' I don't quite know who that person is."

I fight the urge to lick the blood off my fingers, and it reminds me of what I did to Edward. Remorse washes over me again, but he fills my vision and gently tilts my face up to his, like I'm still fragile and not the monster who hurt him.

"This overwhelming part doesn't last very long," he murmurs, smoothing my hair away from my face. "I promise. Come on, let's get you home, and you can read your journals."

**~oЖo~**

"What is this?" I complain, looking at the brand new blank book in front of me. "I thought I was going to get to read."

"This is just for practice," Alice informs me. "Go ahead, turn a page."

The new crazy part of me really, really wants to throw the book at her. I think she knows it, too, but she just grins at me.

"Whatever," I scowl, and with a theatrical sigh, do as I'm told. Unfortunately, when I try the simple motion, the slightest tug rips the page right out. "What the hell? I can't even do this?"

"Just keep practicing," she smiles encouragingly. "It took me a few months to be able to play the violin without crushing it, but books are much easier. I'd ask if you want me to read to you, in the meantime, but I know you'd prefer to wait."

She's right, but I don't want her to go, either.

"Umm, maybe you could just play something for me?" I ask apologetically. "If you want to. You don't have to; it would just be nice to hear you play again."

She smiles and disappears for a moment, returning with a truly gorgeous violin. I space out for a second, staring at the rich reddish shades of the instrument's veneer before I remember that there's a task at hand. I rip a half-dozen more pages while she rosins up her bow.

"Try doing it a little more slowly."

She politely ignores my involuntary growl of annoyance, which I deeply appreciate.

"Why does everything piss me off?" I ask. "I don't remember being this impatient and bitchy as a human."

"Please," she laughs. "You're fine. Just think of it as the worst PMS you've ever had. I'm not offended, Bella. I'm just glad you're here."

She begins to play a sprightly, clever melody I feel like I heard once in a dream. Her fingers fly effortlessly as her beautiful face relaxes in a blissful half-smile. I stare, marveling at how much she seems to have improved. I vaguely recall her being incredibly good before, but this is a new level. The sound coming from the strings is both clear and rich, a seemingly impossible combination of sound.

"You're amazing," I breathe in admiration. "Is it my new hearing or your playing or both?"

"This violin is pretty kickass, too," she grins.

"It isn't what I think it is, is it?" I ask. "I mean, there are a lot of expensive things around here, but we can't possibly afford-"

"A Stradivarius?" she asks, with just a tinge of pride. "Why not? I've always wanted to play one. And now I know what everyone was talking about. It's like every other instrument I've played was just for practice. This is the best instrument by far, the real deal."

She nods at the book, a gentle reminder of the task at hand. I turn my focus back to the page, letting the music soothe me. I rip though another five pages before finally leaving a page battered, but intact.

"Nicely done!" She says as I turn the next two pages without incident. "I think you're ready for the real thing now."

Fortunately I don't have to relearn how to read. Far from it, I find the mechanics of manipulating the pages much more difficult than taking in my own handwriting, and pretty soon I've gotten used to that, too. Reading everything I've written brings an odd, literary sharpness to the soft memories they evoke, and I know without being told that the words are in my mind forever now, even if the original memories aren't quite as solid.

Once I've read my own two journals, which takes only an hour, Alice shows me a video clip from our summer concerts online.

"You know," I observe, wincing, "I've always heard that having perfect pitch is more of a curse than a blessing. Is all singing this imprecise in tone or is this your special way of telling me I suck?"

"It's actually pretty good. It just takes some getting used to. Try to think of the flaws as texture, like wood grain. You wouldn't expect wood to be as smooth as steel, right?" she explains, pausing and clicking over to a video of Renee Fleming I recall seeing before and enjoying. I relax a little, because the inconsistencies are in that video, too, although mine wasn't as good. "The human voice is better in person than in a recording. Richer. Here, try this one."

"Oh man, Jessye Norman," I sigh with pleasure.

I click and click for several videos and find my expectations changing.

"I think I'm getting used to it now. Should I try singing?"

"Only if you want to," she says cautiously. "I honestly don't know what's going to happen."

I take a deep breath, and nearly double over from the blistering pain in my throat.

"Thirsty?" She asks, and I nod. "Let's try it again after a few hunting trips, okay?"

My mouth starts watering again just thinking about it.

"The others are already out there, scoping for humans," she explains, typing out a text message on her cell. "I'll let them know we're headed out."

I touch her sleeve carefully, and she looks at me with patient expectation.

"Alice?" I ask, thinking about some of what I'd read in my journals, along with my memories of what happened the night we left Volterra. "Did you know it was going to be Marcus all along?"

"No, not all along," she admits. "He was just the best of all possible choices, based on the consequences involved if one of us decided to change you."

"You encouraged me to be friends with him so early on," I prod. "I probably wouldn't have tried on my own. I would have been too intimidated."

"It was mostly Eleazar's idea," she says, taking my hands in hers. "Before we considered Marcus as a possibility, I saw your change so many times, and it never ended well because of who did it in the vision. The changer kept switching back and forth from Aro, to Edward, and sometimes even Demetri."

"You're kidding," I say, shocked. "I can't even imagine what would have happened if it had been Demetri. And I'm really glad it wasn't Aro. I mean, I don't hate him or anything, but he's really scary. I can only imagine how he would have manipulated that scenario. It would have been horrible for Edward."

"Don't try to imagine—it's really bad," she sighs. "Usually in my visions, either Aro found out about us or Edward ended up being executed. There were only two vampires powerful enough to defy Aro's wishes and get away with it, and only one I'd want anywhere near you."

For the first time since waking up I feel something besides thirst, lust, or rage. I feel incredibly grateful, but don't know what to do.

"Alice?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd hug you, but I'm afraid of hurting you."

She smiles and puts her arms around me with a fierce squeeze.

"Don't mention it," she whispers. "We're family."

**~oЖo~**

The sun rises and sets twice, and I don't even think about stopping. When I'm running, and killing, it's the only time I don't feel that everything is too much to handle. Part of me keeps expecting to get tired, and I do everything I can to exhaust myself, but nothing works. It's almost frustrating to not have to rest, ever. I do have to change clothes, though, and find sometimes that I can't drink any more, in spite of the burning thirst.

I finally get to watch Edward hunt, and it takes my breath away. Where I am all brute force and bad table manners, he is swift cunning and refinement. I practice on the grassy-tasting Stone Sheep whose struggles barely register under my embrace, but the poor things just get messy anyway. I feel like a toddler holding my spoon carefully when all I really want to do is throw it.

Yes, drinking is disgusting on so many levels (particularly when I enjoy it a little too much), but running turns out to be pure joy for the first time in my life. Edward and I are in the middle of a full-on foot race when I catch a tantalizing aroma in a tickle of breeze. He smells it too.

"Cat?" I ask, furrowing my brow. Usually my first guess is more or less correct.

We come to a stop, listening to the scampering noises of quiet alarm around us.

"Yes, a lynx, to be specific," he replies, taking a leaf from my hair. "Want to try? They're clever."

"Can I watch you?" My voice comes out lower, more sultry than I meant it to.

His lips curl slightly as he gives me a sideways glance, and angles his head in the direction of the breeze. "Come on."

He's off in a flash, and I have to use all of my newborn strength to even keep him in my sight.

The scent grows stronger, and I watch, fascinated as he slows to a crouching, interminably slow pace. My nostrils flare, and the blood smells different, almost spicy in comparison to the usual fare. Following his gaze, I find the animal with its little white ruff and adorable house-cat face. It's bigger than a house cat, but nowhere as intimidating as a tiger or lion.

"Aww!" I say under my breath, and try not to laugh when makes this really weird hiss at me.

"You're so mean," Edward laughs softly, his body still prepared for attack. "You're wounding its pride."

"But it's so cute." That's old Bella talking, obviously. The new me has an opinion, too. "Smells really tasty, too."

"Watch." He speaks in such a swift hushed whisper I barely hear it. "Sometimes I like to trick them into attacking me. Cats sometimes can't believe they're not the baddest beasts in the woods."

He waits, utterly still until the lynx's short tail twitches in anticipation, right before it pounces. Edward catches it easily, holding it under the neck as its claws windmill, sliding harmlessly along his smooth skin. He sinks his teeth in, and watches me curiously. One thick eyebrow shoots up in what I hope is invitation, and I join him, feeding at the same time. Our eyes lock in appreciation, and an odd notion strikes me.

"Something amusing?" he asks, as we finish burying it under a birch tree.

"We've never shared a meal before," I smile, almost shyly. "In two years, two months of it married, and we just had our first dinner date. A little out of order, but nice."

When I look up, he's watching me, his expression careful and speculative. It reminds me of how he was watching the lynx, which reminds me of what I did to him before. I turn my face, trying to hide my shame as I gather leaves to cover the loose dirt. His footsteps crunch as he approaches, slowly.

"I like that idea," he says softly, reaching down to run his hands through my hair.

He caresses my neck, and the shiver that runs through me makes my head tip back against the tree. I cover my face with my hands as the trunk cracks and the branch I'm leaning against breaks off completely.

"I'm a mess," I moan. "I have no control over myself."

"Not for long," he smiles. "Do you think you can just hold still for a second? I want to kiss you now."

I look up, surprised.

"You don't think I'd want to?" he presses, his eyes glowing. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Bella."

I grip the trunk behind me, and stay very still as he leans in, covering my mouth with his almost—but not quite—chastely before pulling away.

"See?" he observes. "Only the tree got hurt this time."

"It's still embarrassing," I say, brushing a messy mixture of wood crumbles and pulp from my freshly unclenched hands. "I have a new respect for how careful you've always been with me."

"You always give me too much credit," he counters dolefully. "I recall some rather unfortunate bruising when we first started."

"Nothing significant," I argue, quick to defend him. "Nothing permanent. And you got the hang of it pretty fast, if I recall correctly."

"And so will you," he says, tipping my chin up with one elegant finger. "My point exactly. So cut yourself some slack, okay? For my sake? Otherwise I'm going to feel really guilty for being glad you're a vampire."

"Not that!" I throw up my hands in surrender. "You know the only way I know how to deal with your sulking is shameless seduction."

"And here I thought I was just irresistible," he mock-pouts.

"You are that," I say seriously, standing on tiptoes to kiss him gently on the cheek. "So don't do that until I can safely give in."

**~oЖo~**

We run all over the Yukon and sometimes the Northwest Territory, hunting bear and more lynx if we can find them, and always the less appetizing, but more plentiful, deer and caribou. I don't want to think about how much blood I drink, but it seems pretty excessive. It's not so much that I'm that thirsty, but that the blood soothes the flames in my throat, and calms me down considerably.

Something has to.

Three days after I wake up, we're all out hunting when Alice says she has an announcement to make. We converge in an abandoned quarry, where I busy myself crushing rocks in one hand in a friendly bet with Emmett until everyone else arrives. I'm ahead by four.

"Because you only got one," I elbow him, though I have to angle up to hit his ribs. "Weak old vampire."

"Yes, you are a terrifying bruiser," he mutters, rubbing his side. "Truly a force to be reckoned with."

"That's right," I say, showing off with another rock. It's almost as addictive as popping bubble wrap.

Esme and Carlisle arrive, and Alice stands up.

"Some hunters have decided to camp about half a mile from the house," she tells us. "They'll be here in a few hours. I don't know how long they're going to stay, but we really need to keep Bella inside until they're gone."

Everyone circles around me and we run back to the house in silence, stopping along the way to feed one last time. Images of drinking from people flash through my mind, and I feel both repulsed and afraid, because I have no idea how I'm going to react. They seem to, however, and it feels like I've already been condemned, even though three of the seven vampires have never consumed human blood. I'm obviously four out of eight who have never tasted it, but I don't really count yet, having never been tested.

I look at my prison, which is nice, as far as these things go. It's a big house and all, but I start to feel like a total criminal. They've even got insulation on all the doors and windows so I don't accidentally smell anything and go crazy.

First, Edward distracts me by giving me his diaries to read again. They all seem somewhat familiar, but I like it that every word now burns into my brain. He plays Debussy and Chopin while I devour his life without me, making it nearly as much a part of my memory as his own.

Soon, I finish Edward's words and turn to Carlisle's study, reading books on local flora and fauna. It's enormously satisfying, applying the correct names of trees and rodents to images in my perfect memory. I read the dictionary cover to cover, simultaneously memorizing two Verdi operas.

As perfect and magical as my improved brain functions seem to be, it's not without cost. I find myself snarling at everyone with increasing frequency as more hours pass. After my first day in confinement, everyone takes turns escaping my wrathful presence, except for Edward and Carlisle.

"You are freaking me out, baby girl," Jasper tells me, narrowing his eyes at me. "Let me help."

I feel some emotional dissonance as my head and the rest of my body seem to be at odds emotionally, and I growl at him again. I try to force the near-blush that seemed to stop him from sensing my lust earlier, but it doesn't work this time, and I just get frustrated and even more angry.

"She doesn't like it," Edward warns, hovering over me. I don't like that much either.

"Right," Jasper says, obviously interpreting my death glare correctly. "But she's much thirstier than she's letting on, and it's driving me a little nuts. Maybe we can spook the hunters into leaving—anyone else want in?"

"Me!" Rose yells, jumping up. "You coming, Bear?"

"Hell yeah," Emmet says, following. "I need to hunt."

I throw a pillow at him.

"What, I'm thirsty!" he laughs. "Be nice, and I'll get something for you, too."

Carlisle gives me his own diaries, which I find more distracting than any other books besides Edward's journals. His writing style comes from a bygone era, both somber and compelling in word choice and rich in detail. The tone is partly confessional and partly clinical in nature, and it makes for fascinating reading. I particularly enjoy his years in Volterra, noting in particular Carlisle's growing discomfort with Aro's impetuous nature. His descriptions add another dimension to my human memories of the same vampires and places, his observations far more insightful than I would have imagined from his discreet words.

I feel for Carlisle as I read of his lonely wanderings. I admire him as he takes up medicine, and how the care of others both soothes him and sparks a deeper need for companionship that eventually became too intense for him to ignore. I read all of his patient notes, including his initial notes about the girl with the broken leg who would eventually become his wife. I read with rapt attention as he mentions Edward's mother, and how she begged him to save her son.

I have to admit, it was a flimsy excuse for an isolated vampire in his position to make his own companion, but I feel incredibly grateful that he went with it.

Of course, I love reading about Edward's first months. He was as violent and confused as any immature young man dreaming about war would be once infused with venom, and it showed. It took both of them some time to get used to Edward's talents, but eventually they truly bonded. Esme's arrival was fine, mostly, but indirectly prompted Edward's killing spree against the kind of man who had driven his new mother to attempt suicide in the first place.

Reading Carlisle's perspective of Edward's vigilante period proves to be both heartbreaking and enlightening. For all of Edward's shame of drinking human blood, Carlisle was proud of the lives that Edward had indirectly saved through the killing of killers. His joy in Edward's return was enough to make me so emotional that I wanted to hug both of them.

Just when I think I can't take it any more and the thirst is going to make me insane, Jasper, Rose, and Emmett come back.

"Keep it outside," Esme says to Emmett when he tries to come through the front door holding a mountain goat.

"It's safe, you can come out now," Emmet yells, grinning. "Were you good? I brought you a present if you were."

"Thank you," I sigh gratefully. "So thirsty."

"See? I told you," he tells Rosalie. "That was too long for a little newborn to go without."

I snort at his calling me little when I can obviously kick his ass, and dig my teeth in, relieved beyond expectation.

As I drink, the air changes direction, and I catch the faintest hint of something far more delicious than goat. I avert my eyes, trying to ignore Jasper's suspicious glance. Edward's head snaps to Jasper, then to me. So much for playing it cool. Another, stronger breeze comes from the same direction, and now they're all looking at me. Now I know why they kept me inside.

"Let's get you back inside," Carlisle says, his hand firmly on my back.

I notice that the others are positioned so that if I try to run, I'll have plenty of interference. The new, terrifying part of me would like to try to get to the humans anyway. _Why would anyone deny themselves something so divine? _I think of Charlie and Renee, and everyone else I'd like to protect. I let them guide me into the house, but only after my swift mental calculation tells me that I can't take them all.

But the scent of human blood is a bell that can't be unrung. Now I know what all the fuss is about.

**~oЖo~**

The earth keeps spinning into infinity, but my natural rhythms no longer match the cycle of sun and moon. I have to get used to everything, including everything about myself that's alien. The first time I see myself in the mirror, about a week after I wake up, I don't even recognize myself. I've taken some ridiculous measures to avoid this moment, and someone decides to take matters into her own hands.

"That ... is alarming," I cringe, while Rosalie holds a mirror up to my face.

I keep looking back and forth, from her perfection to my disturbing reflection. I look around, at Alice, who is more in the Internet than in the living room with the rest of us, and Esme, who seems to be doing something artistic with shiny strips of fabric. Everything they have in common physically, I now do, too. It helps, but only slightly.

"The eyes?"

"Well, the eyes are freaky on their own, yeah," I concede. "But that just looks like trauma. That I can deal with."

"I was really freaked out by my eyes at first," she remembers. "But to tell you the truth I really loved everything else. I was pretty vain as a human. Getting prettier was the only thing that kept me from ripping Edward's head off in those first months."

I gape at her in shock, but I hear Edward snort from the garage.

"See? Always listening in. You only know the best version of Edward, believe me," she clarifies. "But back then, he was an arrogant, know-it-all ass. Can you imagine feeling like this, and knowing that someone could read your every thought?"

"No, no way," I respond vehemently, getting it. "That ... would really piss me off."

"Yeah, it took me a while to get past that," she admits, reaching out to touch a shiny lock of my dark hair. "So if it's not the eyes, what is it? You're really very beautiful, you know."

"I'm still not as beautiful as you," I say, to her obvious satisfaction. "But it's just weird. I only just barely look like me. I look like some air-brushed, Hollywood version of myself. How am I going to explain this, that is, if Aro is still willing to go along with the plan?"

"Oh, he'll go along with it," Alice says, looking up from the glow of her laptop. "It was his idea to begin with, and the only thing he can do to save face right now is pretend that everything is fine."

"After they stage the accident, you'll be in a spa recovering for several months, officially," Esme informs me. "We were able to buy out a health and beauty spa on an island, not far from Brazil. We got really lucky with the timing. It was known to be a semi-private facility where celebrities went to recover from plastic surgery. People will assume that you've had work done."

"When will they stage the accident?"

"Whenever Aro decides," Alice says. "He hasn't made up his mind yet, but I think he's going to go for maximum publicity."

"I'm not famous enough for maximum publicity."

"No, but you just came off a successful tour and have your operatic debut lined up in a few months," she points out. "Add in the newlywed factor, a viral video or two, and a well-timed accident could get you a lot of attention in Europe right now."

"Will my parents have to know?" I ask quietly. "Renee's going to be sick with worry."

"Everyone will know about the accident," Rosalie says flatly. "You know, you're really lucky. Most human families of vampires don't get any news at all. They worry, make missing persons reports, assume you're dead, and hope it isn't the case."

"I'm sorry," I say softly.

"Not your fault," she replies, her mouth rigid. "The circumstances were entirely different."

She gives a hard look to Alice, who looks anxiously at the door frame, where Edward appears seconds later.

"Before you say anything," she says, holding up one small hand. "We did what we had to do to keep anyone from asking questions. Aro told Eleazar to 'clean up his mess' so that none of it would come back to you or the visit, and that's what we did. It's all very plausible."

"You do know that Aro's got Demetri looking for Jasper, don't you?" he says angrily. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Tell you what?" I ask, standing up.

Neither one of them look at me. I'm pretty sure Alice is telling Edward something.

"Tell you what?" I repeat, getting pissed off. "I know that between your talents you two can talk to each other without saying anything, but you're not even trying to hide it!"

"Alice and Jasper took emergency medical leave from the University," Rosalie says disapprovingly. "They're not officially missing."

"Jasper was so close to getting his doctorate," Alice explains. "I thought it would be a shame to burn that bridge. My father, well, let's just say he hasn't even noticed that I ever went to college. I didn't think it would do any harm to send my half-sister a birthday card, and so far it hasn't."

"And my mom is kind of intense about me," Jasper says, standing behind her. "We thought it would be okay to change the next-of-kin information to deceased on all my files. I hired an identity expert to make things as thorough as possible."

"You hired a forger," Rosalie argues. "And it may very well bite us all in the ass."

"We need a good forger," Jasper says helplessly in what is obviously a recurring argument. "And besides, I thought you felt sorry for my mom."

"Yeah, but you're going to get her killed," Rosalie snaps. "I wasn't allowed to comfort my mother, and Aro didn't even know I existed back then. What do you think is going to happen to her?"

"We've got a contingency plan," Alice says quietly. "If it comes down to it, we'll handle it. Otherwise it's just needlessly cruel."

"What's done is done," Carlisle interjects, appearing from the direction of his study. "Alice and Jasper already lived away from home when they were changed, but everyone you knew lived in Rochester. If there had been any way to spare your parents the pain of your loss, you know I would have agreed to it."

"I think Alice has more than earned some leeway on this matter," Esme says, but Edward just keeps staring at Alice.

"The coast is clear," Alice insists. "Demetri's the only one looking for us, and so far, he thinks Jasper's parents are both dead. I don't see that changing."

"We've got a lot of resources they don't know about," says Jasper. "And we've got time."

"We're going to need it," Edward says, looking at me anxiously. "Bella isn't ready for training yet."

"Yes I am," I argue, crossing over to him. "I've been waiting a long time to be more of a strength than a weakness. I don't want to wait anymore. I want to start working on my shield."

"Be reasonable, Bella," he says. "We just got out of Volterra. Don't you want some downtime to relax and get used to all this?"

"I'll never be stronger than I am right now," I continue. "Besides, I'll be able to relax once I find a way to protect you and everyone else here from Jane. I don't remember much from that night, but I remember what she did to you."

"Do I detect a thirst for vengeance?" Rosalie smiles darkly, catching an arch look from the good doctor. "What, Carlisle? I approve of her priorities and so should you. You've always told us what a little thug that girl is. If they send anyone for us it'll be her first."

"Your reasoning leaves something to be desired," Carlisle says uncomfortably. "But you may have a point."

"But Carlisle," Edward objects, only to be interrupted.

"It can't hurt to have an evaluation, and now that Bella's been changed, there's a good way to do that before we even begin talking about training."

"Fine," Edward agrees reluctantly. "But I'm not happy about it."

I thread my fingers through his carefully, and he wraps his arms around me protectively.

"Good then," Carlisle says "I'll call Eleazar."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word ... is like the difference between lightning and a lightning bug" - Mark Twain. One of my favorite quotes ever.**


	39. Lessons in Eternity

**Chapter 39 Lessons in Eternity**

**Thanks to the most betaful NelsonSmandela, and to Detochkina, for so many WCs that the combined teasers almost count as a preview. Her story, Sinnerman, is all kinds of mysterious and intriguing. **

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to SM, who is kind enough to let us play with her toys. **

**Chapter Music**

**Thom Yorke, "Analyse"**

**youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=WwSxzdqrxlI**

**Chopin's "Nocturne for Piano and Violin"**

**youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=VvVX-6zb5N8**

**Schubert's "Fantasie (Four hands)" **

**Pt 1: youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=uNOtJ4wbjew**

**Pt 2: youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=-R7-fBvydyA**

**Faure's "Requiem: Sanctus" performed by King College, Cambridge**

**youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=KwoyxglPwjw**

**playlist up to previous chapters, thanks to EccentricShadow 3**

**www(DOT)mixpod(DOT)com/playlist/60658611**

**~oЖo~**

Even though my new memory makes it unnecessary, I've reread my journals a few times. It's soothing, like carrying around a blanket from childhood. Sometimes I touch the page where the writing seems almost to be carved into the page. Did I always write with so much pressure that the pages curl? Or is the intensity a sign of how much I wanted to keep these human memories, this sense of self? I don't remember how I felt at the time, and for some reason I need to figure out exactly what about me has changed. My human life feels like a dream, and I'm only just now waking up.

Everyone keeps telling me that I'm doing fine, how they all remember what it was like to be a volatile newborn, and how it will get better. It's not that I don't believe them; I do. It's just that it's almost impossible to tell, between this intense, but sort of gentle and quiet person of the journals, and the hard, fierce creature that I've become, what is the real me?

Trying to figure it out while dealing with this constant thirst is like trying to make a sculpture out of boiling water.

There is something deep inside me that needs privacy and independence just as much as I need the love and support of my new family. I would need it more if it weren't for my already having mated with Edward. I know I loved him as a human, but now I know why some vampires questioned the validity of our relationship. All vampires were once human in the exact same way that all diamonds were once lumps of coal.

I am made up of the same material I always have been, but the change that I've gone through—and am going through still in some ways— is separating out what it means to be human from what it means to be me. I feel the knowledge of what it means to be vampire on a deep, cellular level. It is knowledge both violent and precise, terrible and sublime. For the first time, I truly begin to realize that for all their arrogance, the Volturi could be much worse.

Vampires could easily rule the world, out in the open. Why they don't is a question I want to think about while my new nature is a molten, changing thing. I hope that soon my new nature will feel less foreign, and I can start to sift through what's left in the crucible. For now, it's too much to handle. As cold as my new skin is, the flames in my throat and mind are too distracting. I'll just have to wait until everything cools off.

You can sculpt water quite easily after it's frozen.

**~oЖo~**

"I'm bored," I think out loud, even though that's not exactly so. The lie tastes sweet, like venom, but feels wrong.

The truth is that I'm going out of my mind with nerves. I know Carlisle said he was supposed to call Eleazar and that he felt the need to be out of earshot to do it. What this means is that he blasts choral music in his study so that all we can hear are frustratingly short bits of conversation whenever there's a pause in the recording. So far I've heard the words _blood, newborn, _and _so many in Denali._ Nothing remotely helpful.

Jasper snorts, not exactly calling me a liar, but the sentiment comes across loud and clear.

Edward scowls at him, jealous, most likely. For some mysterious reason he had hoped to be able to read my mind once I changed, even though Alice told him that it wouldn't happen and Eleazar explained that my shield would only get stronger, not weaker, and that what Edward could look forward to would be the possibility of my controlling it and letting him in … if I want to. At least he can hear Carlisle's conversation, even though he doesn't let on.

I've never really realized just how jealous Edward gets, and it's both endearing and annoying. Anytime I'm around Jasper, Edward _has_ to be there, so he can read his mind and hear the echo of my emotions. He kind of lurks around Alice, too, and while he's not looking at her directly, I get the feeling that they've worked out silent communication to an art form. He does it with Carlisle, too, but it's far more obvious, with Edward nodding or shaking his head, or at least moving his eyes in yes or no directions. With Alice, all Edward would have to do is decide to say something out loud, and she'd get the idea.

I guess I get a little jealous too.

Alice gets that spaced-out look for a second, and Edward seems to visibly relax. He's relieved about something, which is either good for me if it's about being able to go out hunting, or bad for me if it means my training has to be put off.

Alice pats my hand and looks apologetic. Bad for me, then.

"What do you see?" I ask, feeling a little more panic than her expression warrants.

"Eleazar agrees with me," Edward says, obviously relieved. "He just told Carlisle that it's too early for an accurate assessment because your—"

"Dammit!" I yell, pounding my fist into the table, immediately regretting it as a large crack forms and the thing falls apart. I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment. "Fucking hell."

"—emotions are too volatile," he continues placidly. "He's going to visit at the three-month mark, sweetheart."

"This is such bullshit," I complain, barely tolerating it when they all help clean up my mess, distributing table bits to the small woodpile next to the fireplace as I sweep and deposit the dust outside. "Can't I do something to make the process go faster?"

Jasper and Emmett exchange a guilty look, and Edward clears his throat.

"Stop thinking about it," he tells them. "It's not an option."

"What isn't?" I ask, curious. "If there's a way for me to not act this crazy, Edward—"

"They're thinking about drinking human blood," he says disapprovingly, as the flames leap in my throat at the thought of it.

"Oh," I say, trying to sound less than interested.

I wonder if he would keep disapproving if the blood belonged to someone really, really bad, like one of those murderers he used to hunt. While I'm trying to figure out how to broach the subject, Alice arches an eyebrow at me and Edward cradles his face in his hand.

I guess that's the answer to that particular question.

Rosalie appears in the front door, carrying a magnificent stag, his heart beating so faintly that I hadn't even noticed their approach.

"You're amazing, Rose," I gush, moving faster to her than I mean to.

I nearly knock her over in my rush to get to the deer, but she's pretty well braced, and as Emmett's mate, probably used to overenthusiastic manhandling. She doesn't even blink.

"Who's thinking about human blood?" she demands, hooking her arm around my neck possessively while I drink. "Bella doesn't need it. She's going to be a purist, like Carlisle, Alice, and me. You don't even want to taste it, right, Bella?"

Rosalie seems to take her role as oldest sister pretty intensely. Either that or she'd make an amazing mafia boss, I can't decide which. Her attitude always seems to ride that fine line between nurturing and bullying.

"Mmmhmmm," I hum, trying to block out that tantalizing memory of the scent of human blood.

Jasper and Emmett exchange amused looks. Apparently I'm not very good at deception in vampire form either.

"Don't make bets; it's morbid," Alice scowls at them.

"What's the bet?" Carlisle asks curiously, coming from his study.

He looks at the place where the table used to be but doesn't say anything about it. I'm sure he heard everything, but the sight of the man who has done so much to help so many people makes me feel sick with shame.

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Sorry about the table, Carlisle."

"Don't worry about it," he smiles indulgently. "I've been through the newborn thing enough to know better than to put any of Esme's good furniture at risk."

Right. The whole place has been monster-babyproofed. It should be comforting, but it's just another source of humiliation. Jasper's expression mirrors my own emotion, and I feel that same, slippery feeling that I felt before, like a blush, but not quite.

_What I wouldn't give to be invisible._

"She's doing it again?" Edward asks, staring intently at Jasper, who nods, all the time staring at me like he's trying to see into my soul.

"I'm right here," I complain. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not in the room."

He comes to me and puts his arms around me, and I try to relax into his touch, but it's a struggle.

"Just keep doing what you're doing," he murmurs encouragingly, but the second I try to hold on to the feeling it goes away, and I want to howl in frustration.

"Don't worry about it," Alice says, bringing out her violin. "In a couple of months you'll be fine."

"You can see that?" I ask, sounding pathetic and desperate.

"Of course," she says. "Otherwise Edward would be freaking out, and he's not."

She has a point.

I sit at the piano next to Edward while they play a soothing duet, snuggling as close to his side as his arm movements will allow. From where I sit, I can look out the window, and find myself staring at a deep purplish-blue flower of a morning glory wound around a dead-looking patch of thorny bramble. In spite of the distance I can see every minute detail, the vivid color collecting dew in the early morning sun—the smooth, green vine with lush, heart-shaped leaves wound around and around the ugliness of the dead plant. Did the morning glory kill the plant, its roots choking out that of its host, whatever it once was, or did it merely take advantage of the already dead structure to get closer to the sun, as it would a trellis?

Should I care more for the morning glory because of its beauty?

A movement from the trees catches my attention, and my predator eyes fix on the nervous gaze of a doe. Venom pools in my mouth automatically, but I feel the need for penance stronger than my ever-present thirst for blood.

_I absolve you, _I think, staring into her eyes, automatically memorizing her features. _I can't speak for the others, but I won't ever harm you. Now go, live. Be happy. Have babies. _

She darts away, her heart beating wildly, and I feel a vaguely unsettling tug from my human memories. I do not feel sad at the deer's obviously terrified departure, though I think the old, human me might have. It's no longer in my nature.

"What are you thinking?" Edward asks, still playing.

Somewhere between the music, the pardoned doe, and his sheer physical presence, I'm finally soothed.

"I miss dreaming," I murmur, leaning my head against his broad shoulder.

**~oЖo~**

After the campers have been long gone and their scents fade, I get to hunt again, but never on my own. I don't really complain about it, now that I've been tempted. During the next few weeks I begin to notice a natural rhythm in our actions, and more of a settling in my own mood after any good hunt.

I do have one little problem, though. Everyone keeps acting so nice and helpful that I don't want to mention it, but there's no hiding from Jasper and the ever-present Edward, even when I'm just sitting, reading a book and minding my own business. Which is kind of exactly what the problem is.

"What's going on, Bella?" Jasper asks sympathetically. "I could be wrong, but it feels like you're having a wiggins."

"I knew it," Edward says, hovering. "Why do you always hide it when you struggle? I hate that. What can I do?"

I actually kind of wish he could read my mind right now, because I feel guilty even thinking it, let alone saying it. But they're both looking at me like I'm some kind of problem to be solved, which just makes it worse.

"I feel like a jerk," I confess. "But I think I need a little ... alone time? Just a little space."

"Is that all?" Jasper asks, looking relieved.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Edward says, almost simultaneously. "Could be dangerous. Maybe we should wait for Alice to come back from hunting."

"Alice would call if she saw something going wrong," I argue. "You know that."

"Not necessarily," Jasper says. "But we can figure something else out."

"What if I play the piano?" I ask. "You'd hear that I'm still in the house and not outside murdering anyone?"

"I don't know, Bella; it took Alice and Jasper months to play instruments without ruining them."

"If I can read a book without ripping the pages I can probably do this, too. Please?"

The magic word. It seems to be Edward's kryptonite, for which I am grateful.

Finally alone, I sit down and play lightly, without doing any damage. And it's easy, so much easier than I recall in my human life. My fingers move without effort, if with more weight, and reading music is automatic and obvious.

_A baby could do this._

The problem comes when I get really excited that my skills seem to have improved immensely and automatically with the change. I've never been very good at anything beyond playing basic chords or really simple pieces, that is, just good enough to get by in basic piano class. But now, it's like I can do anything.

So I dig around, find some sheet music and start playing crazy stuff I've always liked but never had the skills to carry off—one of the Debussy pieces that Edward first played for me (I read about it in his journal), the flashy_ Dr. Gradus ad Parnassum._ I get so carried away that it takes one of the pedals breaking under my foot for me to notice.

Unfortunately, _everyone _notices, and my privacy comes to an abrupt, mortifying end.

"You've cracked almost _every key,_" Edward scowls over my shoulder. "What were you thinking?"

"I did?" I could just about die of embarrassment, looking down and finally noticing the tiny hairline fractures on most of the keys.

"How did you not notice?"

"Hey, it's not like you've never broken a piano before." It's kind of weird, I've been expecting Edward to lose his patience over something, but now that it's finally happening I find myself getting pissed off.

He narrows his eyes and glares back and forth from me to the piano.

"That was totally fucking different, and you know it! Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to get replacement parts?"

"Come on, Edward, back off," Jasper sympathizes. "She's blocking me, so she's got to be pretty upset."

Edward rounds on him.

"We're in the middle of fucking nowhere, and we can't exactly have overnight delivery service any more, now can we?"

"Low blow, Edward," he responds. "Just because you're frustrated, doesn't mean you can take it out on everyone else."

"Stop manipulating me," Edward snaps. "Bella needs to be more careful, and I should be able to have a disagreement with my wife without you interfering."

"Jeez guys, throw some kerosene on it, why don't you?" Alice says from the front door, looking windswept and flushed from hunting. "This can be fixed faster than you think, oh ye of little faith."

"That's not the point." Edward folds his arms over his chest, evidently feeling ganged up on. I have the bizarre urge to defend him, even though I'm still angry.

"Look, I'm sorry I broke it," I try not to huff, putting my hands on his tangled arms. If anything, this just seems to make him even more tense. He glares at me, which is both scary and kind of hot.

Alice retrieves a relatively large brown box from a hall closet, and slices open the tape with a sharp fingernail. Edward starts rummaging through it, taking out wood and ivory keys which remind me of extracted teeth, among other piano tools and parts.

"I wonder if piano wire would work if we used it to restrain a newborn," he mutters under his breath.

"I said I was sorry," I hiss at him, staring at his jaw.

"Who's tying up a newborn?" Emmett asks, entering with unusually good timing. He spots Edward with his hands full of piano wire and whistles. "Kinky. That might work, too. Then maybe you won't be such a cranky asshole."

"Not for _that. _She broke the piano," Edward says incredulously.

"And you've broken at least one, so you're even," Emmett reasons evenly. "And your fairy godmother Alice here already has your replacement parts, so get over it already. You thirsty, Bella?"

I shrug guiltily, and look at Edward.

"If you're thirsty, go," he says, not meeting my gaze. "I could use a little time to myself as well."

I almost want to say that I'll stay, but the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, it might be a good idea to get lost for a while.

I follow Emmett, with Jasper close behind. This time, I don't protest when he sends gentle waves of calm over me.

**~oЖo~**

When we get back a few hours later, it feels like all the tension has been magically lifted from the house. Alice and Carlisle seem to be deep in conversation on some point of applied ethics while Edward plays the piano, which seems to be repaired. The tune seems as gentle as the slight smile at the corners of his mouth, and my shoulders sag with relief.

"Where's Emmett?" Carlisle asks, his eyes kind with understanding, as usual.

"He took off with Rose in her convertible," I inform him. "She said to let you know that she tuned your Mercedes, and that they'll see you at the lodge?"

I toss him the keys she had given me, trying to mimic her graceful arc, but they get stuck in the ceiling, showering his open hand with white dust and plaster instead.

"Sorry," I sigh as he retrieves them with a graceful jump. "I'll add that to the list of things to repair."

"To be expected," he smiles, chucking me under the chin in a way that would be annoying if it were anyone but Carlisle. "Just try to leave the place standing, okay kids?"

I hear his whistle and Esme's light footsteps on the stairs as Jasper playfully gathers a giggling Alice into a standing embrace and starts dancing with her around in time to the music. I approach Edward tentatively, still slightly embarrassed.

"You're humming," he observes, and I'm a little surprised to realize it's true. The sound is kind of silvery, but I stop, feeling self conscious. "Does your throat feel better?"

"I guess so" I say, my hand on my throat. "It doesn't burn right after."

I study his face, the beautiful calm of his expression. It's a stark contrast to the fury from before. He squares his shoulders, and we both get a little serious.

"I'm sorry," we say at the same time.

"Does this mean you forgive me?" I ask, as he makes room for me on the bench.

"I should ask you the same thing," he sighs, looking like I feel. "Carlisle helped me fix the piano, and the whole time he was thinking of all the stuff I ruined when I was a newborn. It wasn't pretty."

"I can only imagine the combined destructive forces involved with turning a seventeen-year-old male into a newborn vampire. I bet you were ferocious."

"I was," he admits, turning to me. "And Carlisle had no help at all with me. He never once complained, even though he had no help when he was a newborn. He didn't even know what he was at first."

"How horrible," I say softly. "I wonder how he managed it."

"Managed me?" he asks, amused. "Or not killing anyone?"

"Not killing anyone."

"That's just Carlisle," he says thoughtfully. "I seriously doubt that it ever even crossed his mind to kill anyone. I've lived with him on and off for nearly a century and never heard even the slightest echo of it in his memory."

He nods at the sheet music on the piano, and I notice for the first time it's been written for four hands. I look at him in surprise.

"I thought you might want some piano lessons."

"You trust me?" I ask, humbled. "After what I did?"

"It was only natural you'd get excited," he admits. "Focus on the beat, and try not to break any keys."

After a couple of false starts, we settle into a rhythm, and I begin to notice how smooth his playing is compared to mine. I also notice our arms brushing from time to time and the sheer physical pull he has on me, and resisting him is like resisting gravity. I take advantage of the hunt and inhale deeply, feeling only the faintest burn.

I love the way he smells. It's intoxicating and complex, so much more so than I recall. There's information in the scent, and my new brain decodes it quickly.

_Arousal._

My own body responds immediately, and his nostrils flare. A loud note, far too loud, startles me, and I look down to see a fine crack in the ivory of one of my keys.

"Sorry."

He shifts closer to me, still playing. His head leans in to mine until I can feel his breath on my ear.

"The music, Bella," he whispers, his voice low and smooth as warm honey. "I need you ... to just think about the music."

It takes all of my attention not to break any more keys, but somehow I manage.

"Good," he says encouragingly, rewarding me with a soft kiss on the ear.

I miss a note and laugh shakily when he nuzzles me.

"How can you do that and not miss any notes?" I ask, after missing another.

"I cheated and memorized the score before you got back."

"So Rose, Emmett, Carlisle, and Esme are all going to some lodge?" I ask, trying to steady myself.

I'm not entirely convinced that this epic teasing is his way of torturing me for hurting the piano.

"Mmhmm," he murmurs, his lips vibrating along the column of my throat. "You may or may not have noticed that the couples take turns getting some privacy in the house."

I hadn't noticed, but looking back I can see a pattern.

"I guess we don't really need a turn yet," I whisper, trying not to sound dejected.

"You don't see anyone else around here, do you?" he asks, trailing his fingertips along the exposed skin of my arms.

I miss a few more notes and look around, listening close for anyone. All I hear is the piano, the wind against the house, and the faint hum of electricity from inside the walls. And maybe some angels singing, but that could be just my libido talking.

"Alice and Jasper?" I ask breathlessly.

"Rode with Carlisle and Esme," he says between soft, open-mouthed kisses along my neck. "Remember this? No, keep playing."

"Kind of, but it's different. Your lips are so soft," I marvel as he kisses a tantalizing path along my shoulders, "and warmer than I imagined they'd be."

"Keep the tempo," he whispers as my playing slows. I speed up again, struggling to control myself. "No, I mean, do you remember how we started, when you were human? I was so afraid to hurt you and you had this brilliant idea..."

"How could I forget?" I ask. "It's probably the most erotic passage in my journal."

He stops playing, and cool air hits my skin as he unbuttons my blouse, his mouth following every inch of skin the moment he exposes it. By now I've more than caught on to his plan, and I focus on the music in front of me like my life depends on it.

"That's only because you're too modest to write down the really explicit stuff," he says, nipping my shoulder lightly. "But I plan to remind you personally if you're having trouble remembering."

My bra loosens, and his hands slide underneath, cupping me. I have the impression that his hands feel different. Better. I wonder how the I compare to the old me.

"Do I feel okay?" I ask hesitantly, working the pedals now that he's not.

"Keep playing," he repeats, lifting me by the tush as he drags the piano bench away with one foot. As he presses himself against me he whispers gruffly, "Do I feel turned off?"

"No, but I've changed," I argue. "I mean, I know I _look _better, but you might prefer me soft and warm."

"Stop playing for a second," he orders.

"You're so bossy."

"You're so stubborn," he counters logically.

"I'm only doing as you ask because I like where this is going," I say, narrowing my eyes at his sly expression as he helps me out of the rest of my clothes.

His eyes devour me.

Now that I think about it, I haven't really been naked around him very much at all since we got here. I've caught that hungry look in his eyes more than once, sometimes as I changed out of a bloody shirt or torn jeans, a few times—just for an instant, before he controlled his expression. Every single time, I'd feel desire like I felt my thirst—out of control and violent—followed by guilt at the memory of what I'd done to him earlier, and embarrassment whenever Jasper was close enough to catch the pattern.

A pattern that finally seems to be breaking, I hope.

"God, Bella, you're beautiful," he says after a long moment, taking me in his arms. "You amaze me. But you always have, you know."

He teases me with soft, slow kisses, and I concentrate on keeping my response to a controlled minimum. I'm doing pretty well until I tug on his shirt and feel it come apart in my hands like wet tissue paper.

"Be good," he warns. "Or I'll make you play the piano the whole time."

"I don't know what to do," I moan in frustration.

"You don't have to do anything," he insists, licking and nipping his way down, until he's almost kneeling in front of me, head bent until his glorious mouth and talented tongue capture one sensitive peak, then the other. "Leave it to me; just feel how we are together."

We feel amazing, finally coming together as similar creatures, not having to fight our natures. Well, at least he doesn't have to fight it anymore. I watch, entranced at the sight of his mouth on me, shivering with pleasure. His face is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, eyes closed in ecstasy as his hands and lips explore my naked flesh.

Carefully, more carefully than I've ever done anything, I touch his hair, smoothing it back so I can see his face better. His hair I remember, but it was never so soft, and each strand seems to hold a slightly different shade of autumn, from the deepest shadowed woods to sun shining through a golden maple leaf, and nearly every shade of brown and red in between. I breathe—not out of necessity, but to steady myself—and take in the spicy-sweet of him. I swear, he's addicting.

He moves lower until I cry out from the intensity of his his tongue, and he takes my hand, pulling me down to the floor with him.

"Lie still," he coaxes, shedding his pants quickly. "Just let me do everything the first time."

I nod, not trusting myself to say or do anything else.

"More," he whispers, nudging my knees apart, and I cry out again as his mouth does the most amazing things. My hands find his hair again, and his fingers make me shatter.

By some miracle I haven't hurt him by the time my hips stop bucking, but he's no longer gentle, or restrained, or anything I'm trying so hard to be. He finds my mouth and kisses me fiercely until I start to kiss him back, barely keeping myself in check.

He hisses and lightly slaps my hand away when I grip his shoulders too hard, shushing away my murmured apology.

"Let me," he insists again, and we lock eyes as he pushes into me for the first time since the change.

I remember this too, viscerally, but the differences in our bodies is most marked on this deepest level. Where once I was all softness and warmth to his unyielding stone, now there's a curious, intensely pleasurable give and take. His eyes roll back into his head as he moves inside me, grunting like a fine, fine beast hard at work. I can feel myself gripping him tightly as waves of pleasure crash over me, one after the other.

"God," he moans, the muscles in his face and neck straining. "This may be even better than the heat. I'm not going to last long like this, Bella."

"Hard as you want," I tell him, and his eyes widen before his face splits into a glorious grin.

"I guess that's true, now, isn't it?" he says mischievously. "Tell me if it's too much?"

"Bring it."

He reaches for my ankles and lifts them over his shoulders, and when he slams into me I see all the stars in the universe at once.

**~oЖo~**

I don't know whether it's because I'm a vampire or because we're so far North, but I can actually feel the earth tipping as it cools. Some of the trees change color quickly after the first nipping frost, in glorious golds and reds among the evergreen. Every day I feel a little bit calmer after drinking, and the time of calm stretches almost imperceptibly longer.

We light fires in the fireplace, just for the scent and to watch the beauty of the flames. A meditative hush tends to fall over us in some moments, and I increasingly find myself drawn to Edward's touch, for comfort as well as passion. We wait, we expect it, but there's no word from Volterra. It's almost eerily quiet.

"Don't borrow trouble," Esme advises when I mention it, but Edward and Carlisle exchange worried looks.

Esme's never met Aro. I don't think she truly appreciates his particular brand of trouble, nor the sad fact that we don't need to borrow it at all.

We've earned it.

"He's still regrouping," Alice murmurs. "Sometimes it takes a while to prove your sanity."

Something about her tone tells me she might be speaking from experience.

**~oЖo~**

After nearly two days of hunting, Edward and I return to the house to find Carlisle and Esme entertaining a guest, a handsome vampire with deep, expressive eyes. I find myself tensing up under his watchful gaze, and I can't look away.

He looks vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place him. He gives off a general impression of serenity, but there's also something unsettling about him, too. It's vaguely intrusive, like he's studying me. Even though my family seems to accept him, I have the intense urge to growl. I don't, even when Edward steps forward to embrace him. My urge to protect my mate from this stranger is almost too much, but I'm also able to break things down and follow the logic, remaining calm in spite of every instinct.

"You don't remember me, do you, Isabella?" he asks kindly.

I shake my head slowly, my eyes not leaving his for an instant.

"Can you guess who I am?" He urges. "Can you try to comb your human memories?"

My mind automatically sifts through frustratingly murky images of my human memory of vampires, simultaneously running through the crystal clarity of my journals from that time.

"Eleazar," I whisper. My shoulders sag in relief. "I think you must be Eleazar."

"Indeed I am," he says, with a courtly bow. "You look very well, my dear. Very, very well."

"Sorry I got weird. I don't know what came over me."

"You did?" Carlisle asks, looking at me in surprise. "You seemed normal enough."

I hear shuffling on the stair before Jasper and Alice appear in the doorway.

"It was pretty intense, from what I could feel. You held it together well, Hon," he says, ruffling my hair. "If it hadn't been for Alice, I would have tried to help."

"It's better this way," she explains before turning to me excitedly. "You're going to sing today Bella! It's going to to be wonderful."

I want to believe it so badly, but I know she also might be just trying to build my confidence. Either way, I love her for it, and I give her a gentle hug for her efforts.

"You think so?" I ask. I've been humming a lot lately, though, and practicing deep breathing, but I've been putting off an actual attempt to sing for a while. "I mean, I'm up for music, too, but aren't you here to help me with my shield?"

"I am here for that," he acknowledges, but I see the flicker of something else there, too. "Have you felt any changes in your shield? Can you feel it at all? Jasper has told me that it usually protects only your mind, but that when provoked you have blocked him entirely on four separate occasions."

"Yes, when I'm embarrassed," I volunteer reluctantly. "I can't control it, though."

"Don't worry," he smiles, exchanging a pointed look with Jasper. "I have a feeling that will change soon enough. And if your reaction to my mere presence as a friendly stranger in your home is any indication, I also have the strong feeling that your shield will put Renata's to shame."

"That's good to hear. I am mostly concerned about Jane," I say. "And Aro. But what does my singing have to do with anything?"

"Well, maybe nothing, but since you mention it, I do have a curiosity about this column of yours," he says thoughtfully. "Ever since you described it to me, and I believe when you were on tour I saw it in action, I've wondered if there's a correlation between the two."

I've never once thought of that.

"I don't know," I frown. "The column is a metaphor. It's an altered state of mind, like dreaming, I think. My shield—I felt it. It's very clearly physical."

"What does it feel like?" he asks curiously.

"Like a cross between a blush and putting on a silk shirt. It's right on the surface of the skin, and very smooth, almost liquid."

"And the column, what does that feel like?"

I think, but all I know are the few things I wrote about it. But I must really trust him if we talked about that. The column is private, almost sacred. And I've been thinking about it a lot, because I'm terrified that I'll never get it back. This is the main reason I haven't tried to sing, even though these past two days I've had about an hour of painless breathing after each hunt.

"I don't remember exactly, sorry. However I explained it to you at the time would be more accurate than anything I could tell you now."

"Can you try?" he asks patiently, his eyes full of understanding. "Just a few notes, no words necessary. The important thing is I want you to experience the music and try to feel this curious column of yours."

I'm torn for a moment, unsure of how to go about this, now that the actual moment has arrived. I had hoped for more privacy for my first time singing, but I've also been dying to develop my gift. The thought of the two being somehow connected is too much to process at once, even for my vampire mind. The possibility of failing at two things that are so fundamental ... and Eleazar just stares at me with these eyes that _see everything. _

I feel exposed.

"Bella, what is it?" Edward asks, putting his arm around me protectively. "Why are you so scared?"

My gaze snaps to Alice and Jasper, both looking a bit sheepish. I curse under my breath, hating, _hating _being the center of attention right now, hating that my emotions get broadcast on Jasper's frequency—even if he can't help picking it up, and Edward can't help reading it. Again, my mortification triggers that odd physical sensation, and I know the shield is all the way down.

Eleazar seems to know it, too, or at least have some insight to what's happening. He gives me an encouraging look, and once again I try to keep it in place, but it only works for a few seconds.

"You don't have to sing if you would prefer not to," he offers, putting me more at ease.

I'm starting to remember him now. Dim memories of various interactions fly through my head like damaged video clips. As they do, the words "says little but sees everything" come to mind. I don't know where the phrase came from, other than somewhere in the mysterious depths of my human memory, and a vague association with freshly baked cookies and hot cocoa. It bothers me that I can't remember, and I wonder if the voice that goes with the words belongs to someone I once knew.

He's patient, too, his expression unassuming in spite of Alice's prediction. It's not like she takes away free will, even though I have to constantly remind myself of that.

"Okay," I finally say.

I look at Edward in a silent plea for help, and he goes to the piano. As soon as he starts to play the same scale I nearly always use to warm up, I start to relax. This human memory isn't so dim—it's like a well-worn track in my mind from daily repetition. I let him go through it twice before closing my eyes and taking a breath. The slight burn in the back of my throat is bearable, and my confidence kicks in. I know how to do this. I've done it a thousand times.

_Breathe deeply; don't hold it. _

_Relax the shoulders. Engage the abdominal and back muscles to get a full breath._

_Time it well, and keep that sense of being grounded, feet rooted to the floor, knees soft, posture balanced, strong, but not tense._

_Open your mouth and sing with ease. Trust your voice and your training._

At first I just focus on the notes, consciously trying not to analyze my new sound so as not to interfere with it, but my brain can handle so much more than it ever could before, and the sound ... the sound is simply _fascinating_. Like my face, I recognize it as my own, but fundamentally altered. It's still mine, but smoother, more precise. I still have an opera-singer's vibrato, but it's got a crystalline ring to it, and a regularity that I have yet to hear in human voices. To my relief, I don't hear any metallic or otherwise obviously wrong sound. It's just far more clear, strong, and resonant than my old recordings, but still recognizably my voice in spite of the difference.

As I struggle to find an adequate comparison between my old voice and new (painting versus photograph, of the same exact subject? Rough wool versus shiny silk, but of the same exact color and made into the same shape of garment?) I notice that I can sing both higher and lower than usual, my overall range extended by about four whole notes on either side of the spectrum. In other words, a significant improvement, but not quite freakish.

We go through the regular vocalises in a sort of rote function, I begin to experiment with my previous limits on speed, agility, and breath control, playing around like this until I catch Edward's gaze and begin to think about our connection. This is all very good, technically, but it seems to be lacking soul.

"Something with words?" I ask him. "The Golijov?"

He nods and begins to play the long intro. It's a song we've always connected with, no matter what. If this doesn't do it, I'm in trouble. I close my eyes and start imagining the column the way I described it in my journals and often see it in my mind—in streaks of light and color all around us, shining through every note. My new imagination is incredibly vivid, and the column comes easily.

I feel Edward's gaze and open my eyes the moment I start to sing the lyric _how slow the wind. _I almost reel with the force of our connection, and the glowing, pulsing thing between us. I shouldn't have been concerned so much with the column not showing up, but instead of the pattern of magnification inherent in all vampire changes. It's deep, broad and vast, like an ocean under a starlit sky. Every note vibrates with color and texture until I'm overcome and nearly down in its sensual undertow.

I feel drunk, powerful, sensual, and incredibly strong all at once. _I bet this is what Jessye Norman feels like all the time._

As soon as I think this, the column collapses. I take a deep breath when the music calls for it and try to refocus, but my throat burns a little, breaking the spell. I try to get it back, but can't force it to work. As perfect as the words and notes are, the connection is broken, and I don't figure out how to fix it before the end of the song. From the look on everyone's faces, they all know it, too.

When the piano fades, my shoulders slump in defeat.

"What happened?" Edward asks, frowning. "It was going really well. Incredibly well."

"It was my fault," I admit. "I lost focus, got distracted and cocky."

"Well, at least we know that it exists," he smiles at his own understatement. "It was, um, pretty _charged, _don't you think?"

"I almost suggested we leave you two alone," Jasper says and immediately holds his hand up to the force of Edward's withering glare. "Don't get me wrong—it wasn't so much that it was too sexy, just ... incredibly intimate. Was that just me?"

An uncomfortable silence falls on the room, until Carlisle clears his throat.

"No, it wasn't just you, Jasper," he says. "I just wonder what it means in practical terms. I mean, it was exquisite, but would this sort of thing be _allowed_ in public?"

Esme tries to stifle a laugh. In my embarrassment, I pick up the metronome on the piano and start examining it.

"What?" he asks, giving her an arch look.

"Sometimes I forget that you were brought up Calvinist," she teases. "You act as if it was like Jim Morrison exposing himself in concert."

"I was _not _brought up _Calvinist_," he says in amused outrage. "My father was an _Anglican_ cleric. Not that he would recognize the modern version of the same. _Whey-faced, onion-eyed foot-lickers_, he'd probably call them now."

"As would the real Calvin," Eleazar says, cocking one eyebrow. "I met him. He probably would have liked your father very much, petty theological differences aside."

"Petty differences that got a lot of innocent people killed," Carlisle says, frowning at his hands. "One difference of opinion on the right subject could get you burned alive back then."

As Esme rubs his shoulders in an act of obvious consolation, I begin to wonder if I really know his whole story. I want to ask, but not with so many people around.

"So, do you still think they might be connected?" I ask Eleazar. "The column and shield?"

Eleazar turns to me with a look that says I'm not fooling anyone.

"I can't tell if they are precisely connected," he reflects. "But they appear to work, and more importantly _don't work_, very similarly. You need to learn discipline, but there's time. You're still very young."

"Do you think you can help me?" I prod, trying not to sound impatient. "Control my shield, I mean? I think we can work on the music separately."

"No, I don't think I can," he says shrewdly, sending my spirits into a free fall. "At least, not on my own. However, I think my daughter Kate might be able to help quite a bit."

"Kate?" Carlisle asks, looking alarmed. "You're not suggesting what I think..."

"It won't be fun, but I do think it's a good idea," Edward says ominously, staring at the piano.

I know that look. It's his stoic look, and I feel my whole body start to tingle with apprehension.

"What does Kate do?" I ask, gingerly replacing the metronome.

We don't need any more broken musical instruments so soon.

"She can help," Alice says gently. "She's our friend, and she can help you learn how to protect us all, just like Eleazar helped me, and Jasper too. You want to protect us, don't you?"

I close my eyes and try to gain control over myself.

"Alice," Eleazar says, watching me closely the whole time. "Should I call her now, or have you already made arrangements?"

"She and Garrett should be here in about five hours," Alice sighs. "I wanted to give Bella some time to get used to the idea and maybe to hunt again- if you want to, that is. Sorry, sweetie, I know you're still in the room."

The only good thing about arguing with a psychic is that you don't have to do it all out loud. The bad thing is, if they're still arguing there's a good chance they'll win in the end.

"What can Kate do?" I ask again, trying to relax. And failing, hugely.

"If you want to compare talents," Eleazar explains, "it's a lot like the difference between Aro and Edward. Kate's power only works with direct physical contact, but she's a bit more potent. I should know, I've been on the receiving end of both powers in action. Fortunately, she's one of us."

"So who is she like?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

Edward looks up from the piano, and smiles a little ruefully.

"She's like Jane," he tells me.

**~oЖo~**

After a little hunting and a lot of arguing along the way, Edward proves himself to be just as stubborn as I am when the mood strikes. The others have decided to let us hash it out on our own.

"Jane will eventually attack me again," he argues. "The only way we can know that your defense works against her power is to test it against Kate's."

"Then she can try it on me."

He actually _laughs _at me, and I almost want to smack him myself.

"Believe me, that's part of the plan. Eventually she will have to zap others."

"Not you."

"If it's going to help you, of course she'll zap me, too."

By the time we return, I'm more or less resigned to the plan, but only after I make Edward promise to yell out a safe word if the pain gets too intense. I make a mental note to thank Renee for the advice, even if I have to be _very _vague about what I'm thanking her for. I'm sure the woman would ask for pictures.

I'm a little surprised to find not two but three new vampires in the living room, at least two hours early. In fact, everyone seems pretty cozy, the small living room quite crowded with vampires. I bristle a little, but as I've been preparing myself, my reaction isn't as extreme as it had been to Eleazar's completely unexpected appearance. A small, rather pretty, dark-haired female vampire with Eleazar's unusual pale olive complexion sits next to him on the couch, her fingers entwined lightly with his.

"Carmen," Eleazar says, standing when he notices our arrival, "I'd like you to meet Bella. Bella, this is my Carmen. And this is my daughter Kate and her mate, Garrett. He is new to our ways, but adapting well. He and Kate are newly bonded and were married around the same time you were."

They're a good-looking couple, both blond and kind of blissed-out, like two surfers just short of a tan. They both have open, friendly expressions, and I find myself liking them in spite of her talent and how it's about to be used.

I notice Edward exchange a loaded look with Eleazar before he turns to the pair.

"Clearly we need to catch up on the latest news in Denali. Marriage suits you, Kate," Edward says, embracing her warmly. "I've never seen you this happy before."

"Same to you," she grins. "I hardly recognize you without a scowl."

Rosalie snorts. "You've only ever been around at the same time as Tanya," she points out. "Edward has always been moody, but your sister—"

"That's enough," Carlisle warns.

Rosalie laughs, but holds her tongue. I'm not sure whether I want to hear the rest of that or not. I know enough about Tanya from Edward's journals to feel more annoyed than threatened. However, a part of me feels sorry for her, because really, who _wouldn't _want him? I certainly can't blame her for trying.

As long as I don't know the specifics, that is.

"So, Bella," Kate says, taking my hands lightly. "I want us to be good friends, so I'm putting the decision in your lap. We start when you say it's okay, deal?"

I nod vigorously, buoying myself up.

"I appreciate that," I say sincerely. "But I don't want to wait."

"Yeah?" she says, eyebrows raised. "A girl after my own heart. Okay, brace yourself."

She seems to be thinking for a second, and Alice looks up, alarmed.

"Outside!" she exclaims. "We should really take this outside."

I raise my eyebrows as I notice Emmett and Jasper sneak money into Rosalie's hand as we file out. We settle into a rocky sort of clearing between the house and forest, the sun slanting low and pale in the mid-afternoon sky.

"Whoever voted against me is in deep trouble," I warn, and Kate laughs.

"Not as much trouble as the other one," she snorts as we square off.

"So how does this work?" I ask, right before my arm explodes with pain.

It only lasts for half a second before my shield slips over me in a quicksilver rush. Kate yelps a bit, her eyes widening in shock as she's thrown back, landing on the ground.

"What the _fuck _is it with vampires and my right arm?" I yell, rubbing my arm where the ghost of pain still tingles. "It's the same damned spot every time."

Jasper whistles low, and Rosalie tucks the money into her bra.

"Nice deflection," Kate says, dusting herself off. "I've always wanted to know what it felt like. I guess that old saying _be careful what you wish for _applies here."

"Now you know," Garrett observes wryly, helping her to her feet. "Was it everything you'd always hoped?"

"I'm _very_ impressive," she says. "Maybe I'll get the chance to impress Jane, that _bitch_."

I had been told about Kate's vampire mother, Sasha, and her brutal execution at the hands of the Volturi. It's not the kind of thing a daughter gets over, vampire or not.

"Not a bad idea," Edward says behind me in a quiet, determined voice. "It's my turn."

"No," I say flatly.

He gives me the _You really want to have this discussion again? _face, and I can't stop myself from blocking his way.

"No," I plead in a whisper, staring into his eyes.

"You think it was easy to just stand there and watch when it was you?" he asks. "I know you want to protect me—that's kind of the whole point of this, right?"

I nod, already defeated yet somehow unwilling to let go. My shield still covers me, and I try to push it on to Edward, but it won't budge.

"Don't forget the safe word," I say, as they face each other.

"No, a safe word won't work," Garrett shakes his head. "You might be able to raise your hand, though. Most likely the contact will knock you down anyway."

"Go ahead," Edward says, holding out his hand.

He tries to keep standing, but in spite of my efforts, Edward crumples with a strangled cry. Without a word, Carlisle turns and quietly returns to the house.

I feel like I've failed both of them, but Edward barely winces.

"I didn't lift my hand yet," he complains, standing up. "I'm ready to go again, but try not to let go this time."

"Are you kidding?" I say, and he shakes his head.

Kate reaches out for him and in a blind panic I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself against the inevitability of his pain. The urge to protect him overwhelms me, but I don't know how to do it, except physically. There's a moment of confusion, and I think Kate touches me by accident, or maybe I just stepped in between without consciously meaning to, because I can feel a little buzzing pressure against my shield. _Edward is going to be so annoyed with me for interfering when I said I wouldn't._

"I'm far from annoyed," he murmurs in my ear, and I startle.

Confused, I open my eyes and Edward curses, falling down in agonizing pain. Kate lets go once again without his signal, because she's not a damn sadist. I'm growling at her like a complete maniac anyway, and she holds her hands up as Edward and Emmett hold me back.

"Curious similarities," Eleazar observes calmly. "There's definitely a pattern, but it's nothing that can't be solved with a little more practice. Though I think that's enough for now, obviously."

Edward kisses my forehead with something like reverence, and it finally occurs to me that for the first time, he could read my mind while my shield protected him.

"Oh crap," I mumble, looking at him in shock.

"Just think of it as extra motivation," he says with a mischievous grin. "Just imagine what kind of things you can say to me privately no matter who's around."

I scowl.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you? I was worried sick about you."

"That's why it worked," he says, kissing me so sweetly I forget to be annoyed. "You can tell me all kinds of things. _Sexy things_, for example. You can yell at me, too, if you want."

"Huh." He's very persuasive, I'll give him that.

"And the best part?" he asks excitedly, not waiting for a reply, "I couldn't hear any thoughts but yours. You have no idea how wonderful that could be in the right company."

I snort, thinking about some of his unintentionally humorous journal rants about eighty years of unintentional mental sexual harassment. Emmett and Rosalie may joke about Edward's prudishness, but I don't think they ever fully appreciated the extent of what he's been forced to hear and see in the minds of others. It's got to be creepy to see yourself in porn you never consented to act in, even if it is all imaginary.

"You mean I should hurry and learn how to control this before we get a visit from Tanya?"

"If you can manage it," he says, dipping his head to mine for a deeper, longer kiss.

**~oЖo~**

Still needing to calm down, but not even remotely ready to hunt again, I follow the gentle, nearly angelic sounds of a choir coming from Carlisle's study. The door is ajar, which means it's okay to enter. Like a church, this room is almost always available for anyone wanting guidance or comfort. I may need both, but I'm really here to apologize.

I knock as softly as possible.

"Come in, Bella," he calls. "I'm just finishing some emails."

It's a lovely room. It's not the biggest room in the house, but it's filled with books and art, and always music. Carlisle always listens to choral music while working, usually requiems. I don't blame him; Requiem masses are almost always particularly beautiful—full of drama and all of the important questions, peppered with some of the most soothing music in existence. Still, I've always found it curious, or perhaps ironic, that an immortal creature would spend so much time listening to music written about death.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, always more worried about other people than himself. "I am sorry to have left like that."

"I don't blame you." I shake my head. "I'm sorry that I didn't protect him sooner."

"From what Eleazar told me, you did fine," he says, looking weary. "If this helps you protect Edward and the rest of our family, I certainly can't complain. It was just ... difficult to watch."

I can't think of anything to say to that, but look down at my hands until he continues.

"You should know that the bond between a vampire and his maker can be intense, particularly when they live as family as we have. To see any of my children suffer is unbearable. I wanted to offer myself in his place."

No wonder Aro wanted to change me.

"Is that why you wanted Edward to bite me, too?"

"Well, mostly it was to help accelerate the change, but it was also about what you and Edward wanted. We were all making the best of a bad situation that could have gone much, much worse."

"Do you know who changed you?"

He gets a faraway look in his eyes, and for a moment I wonder if I've said something wrong as the calm harmonies of the _Sanctus _fill in the crack in our conversation. He shakes his head.

"No, and I have reason to believe that he was executed by the Volturi not long after I was changed. Aro said he recognized me from the trial of a vampire who had exposed his true nature. He was most curious about how I, as a human, had discovered a coven of vampires on my own. It made him interested in me enough to let me stay in Volterra as his personal guest."

I shudder involuntarily, thinking about how much trouble one can get into when Aro takes an interest. Carlisle's freedom is a reminder that Aro isn't as scary when you don't have anything he wants.

"But you do remember your human father," I think, remembering his exchange with Esme earlier. The realization hits me full force. "Did you see him, then, after you became a vampire?"

A shadow falls across his handsome features, and he nods.

"He was grieving so much," he says, looking ashamed. "You have to understand that at the time, I didn't fully understand what had happened to me, and I thought that he could help me, perhaps even perform an exorcism."

_Oh, God._ From his pained expression, I can tell it didn't go well.

"I can't imagine going to my father like this," I say softly. "If it weren't for my journals, I don't know that I'd even remember enough to find him. What happened?"

"I was starving, but was able to refrain from attacking anyone, somehow. I truly thought I was halfway in Hell by some horrible mistake, but kept thinking that if I refrained from giving in to these horrible urges, God would hear my prayers and save me. I tried to tell my father this, but I must have appeared to him like a true demon. He was so afraid of me, so utterly terrified, that he could neither speak nor move. I left him in peace after that, though I fear that his life was far less than peaceful having seen me like that."

"I'm so sorry, Carlisle. I can't imagine how you felt, but at least you didn't choose this. I still don't know how I'm going to handle my parents. I can't bear the thought of hurting them."

"Thanks to Aro's favor, you get to defer that pain for a little while, at least."

I pick up a microscope from his desk and peek into it. There's nothing on display, but the dust-mites are fascinating.

"That's the silver lining to a huge storm cloud, I guess," I say wryly. "What would you do if you were me? Just let them believe the public story about my death, whenever it happens? It seems so cruel."

"That's a tough question," he says, steepling his hands under his chin. "For Edward and Esme, the decision had already been made for them. Rosalie, well, in any way that counts, her decisions were also taken away, and I regret that I was part of that. Emmett barely remembered his own name, and was too wild for us to do anything but take him away. And now, with email and telephones and all our modern technology, how can I begrudge Alice and Jasper's families their peace of mind if they be spared the pain of losing a child?"

It's not an answer, but it gives me something to think about. It's so ironic that our families are forced to grieve for us long before we have an eternity to grieve for them. _Requiem eternam in pacem_: rest in peace, forever.

"You listen to this kind of music for your father?" I ask. "For your loss and his?"

He smiles, sadly, and we listen as one track fades into silence and the next begins.

"At first it was for him, yes. Maybe I can't fulfill his wishes for me, but I can do this instead."

I don't think he's just talking about the music.

I can just picture him, the dutiful son-turned-demon, trying so hard to be good in a world that must have seemed so unbelievably wicked. In a body that must have seemed half-miracle, half-curse. For someone whose human life was so wholly focused on the afterlife, immortality must have seemed like a punishment of intolerable cruelty.

"And now?"

"Give it a few hundred years," he says, smiling sadly. "You won't even have to ask."

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: Sooo... I took a much-needed break from this chapter and wrote something simple, short and fun for The Countdowns by breath-of-twilight. Over the course of October all the one-shots are posted anonymously with hints as to the author's identity. See if you can spot me! fanfiction(DOT)net/s/6326403/1/Countdown_to_Halloween_II_One_Haunted_Hallows_Eve**


	40. A Flawed Divine

**Chapter 40: A Flawed Divine**

**Thanks to Mistressbetar NelsonSmandela, and to Gkkstitch, Algie, and Detochkina. **

**This one's for you, Feisty.  
**

**Chapter Music**

**Maria Callas sings "Me voila seule" from **_**The Pearl Fishers**_** by Bizet**

**www . youtube . com/watch?v=_tb6BxAwb2k**

**Maria Callas sings "Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix" **

**from **_**Samson et Dalila**_** by Camille Saint-Saëns****

**www . youtube . com/watch?v=9piRiiZ0C4Q**

**Rachmaninoff Prelude Opus 32 #12 (Horowitz)**

**www . youtube . com/watch?v=ePfJV-78bQU&NR=1**

**Pacifica Quartet performs "Allegro pizzicato" from Bartók's String Quartet No. 4**

**www . youtube . com/watch?v=aBs53SlEkso**

****Yes, this is the aria that inspired Muse's "I Belong to You," which was featured on the **_**New Moon**_** soundtrack. They even use some of the original lyrics and music! www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=LMQuOkQyezU**

**aaaand here's the picture Bella's looking at in the first scene: **

**http : /fashionidentity . blogosfere . it/images/callas . jpg**

**Disclaimer (sort of): For anyone disappointed in Edward for getting mad about the piano last chapter: I don't disagree with you, but just for context, I scratched my older sister's guitar when I was five years old and she's **_**still **_**pissed off about it. Just ask her (she'd love to tell you her version of the story). Her head explodes and she breathes fire, even after all this time. Did Edward overreact? Sure. Was that realistic for a musician? Definitely. **

**And Twilight still isn't mine. **

**~oЖo~**

"Let's do this one from _Samson and Delilah_," I say, looking at an iconic picture of Maria Callas on an old vinyl album that Aro gave me. "_Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix._"

I love this picture of Callas. It's a simple image in some ways: a black and white image of the pale woman with strikingly dark eyes and hair, her gaze a curious and contradictory mix of impassioned and impassive, like a volcano that could erupt at any moment, but hasn't...yet. She holds her face in her hands, and I imagine her saying silently: _I dare you._

Aro almost did, supposedly. _"She would have made a wonderful vampire, don't you think?" he asked regretfully. "Such a magnificent, strange voice, and such artistry. Smart, too, but that voice! Truly odd, and so rare. There was no mistaking her for anyone else. In the end I decided against changing her, but of course one must help something so unique, no matter how flawed." _

Although he and everyone else had told me never to imitate any one singer's style outright, he often referred to her interpretations as "always correct, simply the right way to do it", so I listen, and pay attention.

Her voice _is _strange, but distinct. Lots of famous singers have an odd, unique quality to their voices, and not just in the operatic world: Tina Turner, Stevie Nicks. My voice has always had a slightly unusual quality to it, but the venom has undoubtedly exaggerated that particular element, and added a bell-like, otherworldly color as well.

I just hope it's not too inhuman.

"_Samson et Dalila?_ " Edward frowns, using the proper French pronunciation. "Doesn't a mezzo usually sing that?"

"That's the point. I've got the low notes now, and the high notes to sing dramatic coloratura, too," I smile, looking up from my spot on the floor. "If we only send him things I would have sung as a human, he'll accuse me of having a limited imagination and no ambition. If a human like Maria Callas had the guts to sing whatever the hell she wanted, so should I."

"A mere _human_ like Callas, is it?" He arches an eyebrow.

"No, I didn't say a _mere _human," I protest. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just nice to be able to do more, and never have to worry about losing my voice because I didn't get enough sleep or got sick. Is it so wrong that I'm enjoying myself a little?"

"No, it's not wrong. But, if you go all diva on me..." he warns, but he looks amused at the thought. "No, I can't imagine it."

"I wouldn't know how," I laugh. "How would I do that? Throw a tantrum over something trivial? Refuse to consume anything but the blood of fresh, angry snow leopards?"

"Only the finest of endangered species, right in your contract," he laughs.

Yes, I have a long way to go before I'm one of those self-absorbed egomaniacs who throw hissy fits in their dressing rooms if they don't get enough applause or the right brand of mineral water. I've never seen the appeal—it just looks ridiculous.

"I'm more concerned about what he might read into the aria choices," he admits. "So many of these operas involve the downfall of a powerful man. Samson loses his powers after trusting a woman. The aria from _The Pearl Fishers_ is great, but the lovers get away scot-free, and the high priest doesn't get what he wants at all. With whom do you think Aro will identify? "

I didn't think about that.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated with him?" I complain, only to receive an amused look from across the piano. "Okay, okay. We'll have to think of something to balance it out. Some more Puccini where my character bites it. I just want to show him some range... something that says I'm serious about making all his weird little opera fantasies come true."

"Not _all _of them," Edward mutters cryptically.

"Do I even want to know what that means?"

He laughs, so it can't be _that _bad. I hope.

"Probably not. Let's just record tons of stuff and go over the choices with Eleazar and Alice later."

After a few minutes into the second aria, low-burning flames lick at my throat like little tea-light candles, but I ignore it for the sake of the recording, just like I try to ignore the little technical indication that the recording equipment is working . The ominous red light glows like a single unblinking eye, a strangely appropriate stand-in for Aro himself.

I don't look at it, but I know it's there all the same.

All in all, a little burn in the lungs seems like a small price to pay in the scheme of things. I certainly learn music faster than I did as a human, and where once my biggest challenge involved worrying about whether I could consistently hold a high C, now I focus on the finer points of artistic expression: the color and shape of a phrase, the minute adjustments to volume and tone that might change the meaning of a particular word.

For example: while singing the part of the seductive, treacherous Delilah, the singer can do a variety of things. You can play up the evil part of her character, shading every word and turn of phrase with sinister tones for theatrical foreshadowing, or you can really go for the seduction, letting the audience think that, at least for the moment when she begs him to "fill her with ecstasy", you wonder if maybe Delilah wants him as much as she wants revenge.

I might have technically "decided" to go with the slightly sinister foreshadowing for fun, but almost at the very beginning, from the moment I sing that my heart opens to his voice like a flower opens to the kiss of the sun, Edward's eyes lock with mine, and the seduction is _on. _

Supposedly, my skin now takes on the temperature of the air around me, but whenever Edward's gaze fixes me and my lungs burn with thirst like this, I could swear we're in a sauna. We adjust tempo seamlessly, perfectly in sync as musicians get when in the zone, and the air seems to vibrate with the column we've created.

I swear it seems to take on a life of its own, like ivy taking over a house, turning a man-made structure into something green and vibrant, alive. It vibrates even after my last word, after he plays the last refrain, even after he takes his foot off the pedal and I press the button that makes the recording stop.

No sooner than Aro's red eye goes dark do I feel Edward's hands slide around my waist as he pulls me close and spins me in one fluid, sensuous motion.

I lean in and stand on my tiptoes when he touches his forehead to mine, and whispers soft as a nearly-forgotten dream: "Cover me, Bella, please?"

He always wants my shield now. He says he loves the privacy of not having to hear the thoughts of others almost as much as he likes reading mine. He says my mind is addictive, a blend of the playful and artistic, like some hidden, secret circus.

"Help me," I say, tilting my face up to his.

His mouth covers mine, and I lose myself in the kiss until it's hard to tell where I end and he begins. When we're this close, this intimate, it's easier to move my shield, slipping it over both of us like a blanket. I replay the last few minutes of our practice, letting my mind fill with lush music and the visuals I had at the time—a beautiful, old stone house engulfed by rapidly-growing vines and the heart-shaped leaves and deep purple blooms of morning glories, opening and closing to the rhythm.

"More," he says, smiling against my lips.

"You're so greedy," I tease, running my fingers through his exquisite hair.

"I can't get enough," he admits shamelessly. "What else do you think of when we're making music? Give me another image."

Instantly I think of the certain way he looks at me, the one look he gets that makes me want to crawl over the piano and liberate him of clothing.

"_Liberate _me_ of clothing_," he laughs, rubbing my bottom. "You should follow that impulse sometime."

"We were recording," I insist playfully, "and besides, I can't just jump you every time you look at me like that. There are people around."

I keep my shield steady on him, thinking, _Give me that look again and I will._

"This look?" he asks, pulling back slightly as he unzips my jeans. His expression turns serious, his eyes hungry and intense, his lips parted as if he wants to say something. Or maybe do something else with his beautiful mouth.

I swear, my toes actually curl, and I launch myself at him, wrapping my legs around him as we kiss. It's a struggle to keep my shield on him, but every time I have an erotic thought, he makes unbelievably sexy noises and his kiss gets even deeper and more desperate. I run my hands underneath his clothes, tracing the planes of muscle under fine, smooth skin until I remember we still have a tiny problem. I pull away from his mouth and try _really hard _to focus.

"We should go somewhere," I whisper against his neck. "Up to our room even, I don't care. I need to be alone with you."

"We are alone," he says, looking speculatively toward the staircase. "But the bed will be far more comfortable."

My mind fills with images of our tangled pale limbs, and how the low winter sunlight makes him glow faintly, makes my still heart ache for him, even when he's surrounding me, inside me.

"I know what you mean," he murmurs, lifting my hair from my neck and letting it fall in a heavy curtain around our heads. "I love it when you're the only thing I can see, taste, hear and touch. Even then, it's not enough."

He guides me up the stairs, our limbs already tangling because we can't stop kissing long enough to make the the trip faster, our hands busy with buttons and fasteners. We're completely naked by the time we slip under covers, not for warmth but to make a cocoon around us and shut out the world. His half-hooded eyes seem magnetic and as deep and black as space as he enters me, his mouth never leaving mine for longer than a beat until he is all the way in and he stops, bringing his hand to rest over my heart where it used to beat.

"Do you miss it?" I ask, dimly recalling him doing the same thing on our wedding night, his eyes soft with wonder both then and now.

"Yes," he admits quietly before filling me with a tormentingly slow rhythm of his own. "But I love the stillness, too. Does that make any sense?"

_Yes, _I think. It makes sense in the same way I want everything from him, and not just the ideal. I want his secrets and his mistakes too—whatever drove him to hide in the shadows. I want even the most mundane, stupid things he'd rather forget.

"Nobody could want that," he chuckles darkly, responding to my thoughts in between long, slow kisses.

He distracts me with his body, responding to my thoughts as he overwhelms me completely. My mind fragments, and when I come out of it, I'm surprised to find the shield still holding over both of us.

"Isn't that better than the mundane?" he asks, eyes wild with excitement. I know he's close, and he groans as I move my hips to give him deeper access.

_But I do, _I think_. I want it all, especially the imperfections, because it's _you_. _I show him all the ways he lets me in, and think of how it feels to love every part of him. I let my mind flood with thoughts of us together, of beauty and pleasure so intense it borders on painful, and smaller intimate moments too numerous to count. Every thing he does and is draws me closer.

Pleasure builds again into a deep, powerful wave, crashing into me as it sends him over the edge, and we cry out together, the bed shaking around us.

Even after we still, settling into a lazy embrace, I don't really want to leave this new intimacy just yet. He seems ridiculously proud of himself, and I keep my shield over him long enough for one last thought, too intimate to even say aloud.

When you idealize someone, it isn't really that person you love, but the ideal. Love that sees only perfection is a cold, fragile thing, and it seems like we've been tested and will keep being tested. I worry if I'm still the same person he fell in love with, now that I'm no longer...a person. My human memory may be a little hazy, but I remember enough to know that he loved to protect me, loved my warmth and gentleness. Beyond the physical changes, I know I'm no longer quite so gentle, and it scares me to think that it matters to him.I wonder how much I've changed, and if it bothers him. I fight the urge to shield the thought from him, and he holds me close, but as gently as if I were still fragile.

I want to know him, relearn him as he relearns me until his flaws and mine blur, and he knows what it's like to be an unnaturally quiet fortress and I know what it's like to be a jealous man who knows and sees too much.

"I see _you_," he says, gently tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. "You have nothing to worry about. The newborn year is intense, but underneath all the vampire stuff you're still my Bella."

**~oЖo~**

"Could you please stop that, Bella?" Jasper asks politely, moving his bishop across the board, and waits for Eleazar to finish taking a turn on Garrett's board as well. "It's like flicking the lights on and off again, over and over. It's annoying Edward, too."

Edward betrays no sign of irritation except for the thin set of his lips and the appearance of grim concentration. He doesn't say anything to defend me, which is telling. To anyone else, it would look like I'm just sitting, braiding Alice's hair while she daydreams.

Aro would call this "playing human" for sure, I think, but I like it. I've never had a lot of family around, but it feels a little bit like something Norman Rockwell might paint if he were to capture our group dynamic. Carmen and Esme have a huge leather-bound photo album lying across their laps, their heads touching as they occasionally laugh at some of the old fashions in photos, or stories they represent, like the time Rosalie unsuccessfully tried to keep pets.

I can't imagine a domestic scene like this in Volterra, Jasper's annoyance notwithstanding.

"Does it bother you because I'm covering Alice in particular?"

"Yes," they say in unison.

Alice leans back and closes her eyes. Not something I'm used to from a vampire.

"Why don't you see how long you can hold your shield on me?" she says quietly. "If you want to."

Braiding her thick, inky hair is a good physical distraction while I concentrate on shielding her, and the proximity helps, too. She almost looks human, like she's sleeping. Her features are so delicate that it's incredibly difficult to believe how powerful her gift really is, and how well she's used it to protect all of us.

I only hope I can return the favor.

"Are you tired?" I ask, my voice low, even for a vampire.

Her eyes open, filled with question.

"Is it intense, always having to watch everything? Don't you want to take a break sometimes?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like I'm controlling too much," she agrees slowly. "But it's worse when I miss something and then something awful happens. Sometimes I worry that what I can do will take over who I am. But mostly, I just feel really lucky. I know exactly how badly things could have gone, and almost did."

"Sure, but isn't it a lot of pressure?" I ask, keeping my voice as low as possible. "Does it ever just feel like too much?"

She looks a little sad, a little weary for a moment, but then she shakes her head.

"I've got a gift that can help protect our family, same as you. It's a lot of pressure, sure, but the alternative is not something any of us want. We can stop bad things from happening, as long as I'm paying attention. Maybe someday I won't have to pay so _much _attention, and it will just be the family lighthouse, watching out for the occasional rocky patch."

It's a nice thought. I wouldn't mind it if she knew for certain if I was going to fail.

"What if I can't do it as well as you do? What if they come before I can really control it?" I whisper, allowing all my anxieties to surface, knowing my shield spares Jasper from worry, for now. "That could happen, right? Shouldn't we have a backup plan?"

Alice's eyes glaze over and her breath catches.

"What is it?" Edward asks. His low, urgent tone jolts me out of focus, and I feel my shield snapping back into place as I lose control over it. His expression clears, and he taps the chess board quietly.

Eleazar glances over his shoulder at Carmen and Esme, and nods once at Edward after they exchange a significant look. It makes me nervous.

"I think Bella's thirsty, Edward," Alice says, squeezing my hand before I get a chance to ask. "Jasper and I could hunt, too."

"Don't be long," Carlisle says, and I turn my head to see him standing in the doorway to his study, his face a mask of concern.

It seems I'm not the only one who noticed the odd, silent exchange.

**~oЖo~**

The moon glows low in the sky like a bright spotlight, bringing out a glorious, subtle shimmer to the snow and our cold skin alike. We've hunted, technically—a perfunctory and pathetic meal of rabbits and one shared muskox, its unpleasant odor clinging to my clothes long after we've buried the giant, stinking carcass.

I _hate _the rank smell of muskox, but there wasn't much else available. I don't like the way they look either, like they did something that pissed off God so much that they were given horns that look more like a ridiculous 1960s Mary Tyler Moore hair flip than serious weapons. They are big enough to share, however, and do well in the arctic cold.

I rub snow on my hands as we walk quickly—a truly inhuman pace—but of course, it doesn't melt. It doesn't take away the stench, and as far as I can tell, all the rivers and streams have frozen over as well.

"Can we run?" I ask, hoping the air will succeed where frozen water has not.

Edward takes my hand without a word and gently tugs me into a run. He looks determined, but not grimly so. One glance at Alice and Jasper confirms my suspicion that the hunt is only the pretext for this outing, not the main purpose.

The air whips pleasantly on my face and through my hair, and for a few blissful moments all I smell is pine, until I catch a whiff of something familiar. We slow to a walk as we step into a small clearing to find Eleazar and Kate waiting for us.

Snow crunching under our feet sounds disturbingly louder than it should. The moonlight is eerily bright in reflection, shimmering with every downy flake, and gleaming from snowdrifts and heavily frosted branches bent so low it seems the branches will likely snap.

"So...what is this?" I ask, turning to Alice. "What's with the sneaking around?"

"It's mostly just a precaution," Edward says quietly, squeezing my hand. "The fewer who know about this meeting, the better."

"I don't want to lie to Carlisle," I insist.

"Carlisle has a good idea of what we're doing," Alice says. "He just doesn't think Aro will be as underhanded as we suspect."

"Even after everything that's already happened?" I ask, turning to Edward. "Did you tell him what his mind was like?"

"Carlisle has many good memories of Aro," Edward explains. "He knows Aro to sometimes be cruel, but he thinks that underneath a certain amount of avarice, there's reason and... _good_."

Edward seems to choke on the word.

"Carlisle wants to believe that in the end, he will let us live in peace," Alice says. "He let him go two hundred years ago, just as he let Eleazar and Carmen go, in spite of Eleazar's useful talent. He honestly thinks it will be the same for us."

"If Carlisle is right and Aro respects our autonomy, anything we discuss here won't matter," Eleazar says. "But it would be irresponsible of us not to plan for other possibilities."

I look at Alice. "Has Aro made any decisions?"

"It's not that simple," Alice says. "There are so many things he knows nothing about. So much depends on what he discovers, and when."

"Bella," Eleazar begins, "what exactly do you remember about Aro from your time in Volterra?"

The memory loss that comes with transformation is tricky and varies from vampire to vampire. The trauma of burning and the disorientation of sharpened senses makes everything foggy at first, but some things stay with you more than others. In my case, my human memories were particularly dim if I had only met someone once or twice, like Eleazar, but I can recognize my parents in photographs.

When I close my eyes and think of Aro, he is disturbingly vivid. I can see him in his music room, praising me with one breath and threatening with the next. I remember his eyes, predatory and intelligent, always watching, always evaluating.

Always assessing my value.

"I have my journals," I say with a sigh, "and my human memories might be a little _imprecise_, but he left quite the impression on me. I think he may be capable of just about anything to get what he wants. Even outright murder."

"I fear you may be right," Eleazar says. "I have known Aro to perjure himself in order to spare the lives of talented vampires. I've often wondered about what happened with his sister. Never out loud, of course, until now. I still don't know if he could really kill her_._"

"He could, and I think he did," Edward insists. "But the appearance of civility is crucial to him. How _did _you get away, Eleazar?"

"It wasn't easy. I essentially had to promise to help him whenever he asks," he says, casting a rueful glance at Jasper. "Which, unfortunately, hasn't always been fair to everyone. Up until recently it was a small price to pay for freedom. Unfortunately, Aro's demands have increased, and I find myself walking a very fine line with him."

"What do you mean?" I ask, dreading his reply.

"Do you remember an Egyptian vampire named Amun?" Edward asks.

"The name sounds vaguely familiar," I apologize.

"He came for a visit, with his wife, Kebi. We performed for them in the Volturi palace."

An image comes to mind of a sullen-looking vampire with a pale olive complexion, and a quiet woman standing behind him.

"He didn't let Aro touch his hand!" I exclaim. "You said he was paranoid."

"He wasn't paranoid; he was right," Edward explains. "That day when Aro sent me to Africa for a hunting trip, he also sent me to spy on Amun for him. He wanted to find out what he was hiding."

"But you didn't find anything," I frown, thinking of the very long journal entry I wrote for that day. "You weren't there long enough, were you?"

Judging from everyone's expressions, I seem to be wrong about that.

"I never told Aro what I found," Edward says softly. "But I told Eleazar."

"And Aro sent me— and some of the guard— to finish what Edward started," Eleazar confirms. "Amun was hiding a vampire he sired and that vampire's mate—a very talented vampire called Benjamin, who can control the wind and rain, control fire, even make an earthquake."

"Anything to do with the elements, essentially," Edward adds. "It's fascinating to read his mind when he does it, like reading the mind of a nuclear physicist, only more so."

"I tried to warn Amun in private," Eleazar continues, "but he wouldn't listen. He thought I was trying to trick him. He put up quite a fight, but in the end, was no match for the Volturi guard."

"Are you kidding me?" My mind reels with the implications of this. "So now Aro can control the weather and make natural disasters?"

"No, not at all," Kate says with a wry smile. "But _we_ can, if we ask nicely. Benjamin is very accommodating."

"We?" I ask, uneasily. Edward rubs my back as I process this information. "Aren't we hiding a lot from him already? Isn't this dangerous?"

"It's too late to do anything about that now," Jasper tells me. "Aro still doesn't know anything about Benjamin, as far as we know. He lives with his wife and Amun's mate, Kebi, not far from Denali. The thing that concerns us is that Aro's still looking for me."

Alice looks away.

"Is _that_ what you saw?" I ask Alice. "Is Aro going to send someone after us?"

"No, but he's... very _curious _about us," she says carefully. "But the best thing is that as long as we're with you and Edward, they can't send Demetri because he's not allowed to come near you. This works very nicely in our favor."

"At least there's that," I say. "But wait, what did you mean when you said that they were curious about _us, _and not just Jasper?"

"All of us," Kate says, looking around. "Demetri came to Denali a few months ago, looking for Jasper. I think Aro suspects Eleazar of helping him."

"And Alice, too," Jasper says darkly. "He showed them our wedding pictures, taken from our apartment in Seattle. He's assuming I either killed her by accident or turned her."

"Do you think he found anything tying us together?"

"We don't think so, but they know we were all at the same school," Alice says. "I didn't see anything like that, and we got most of our stuff out afterward. We also managed to hide Kate to some extent."

"He thinks Irina is me because we look alike and gave him the wrong names," Kate says with obvious satisfaction. "And he isn't bothering tracking vampires without talents."

Edward's gathers me close as I intuitively step closer to him.

"It's only a matter of time," he says, taking my hands in his, "before Aro starts to worry about the concentration of talent in this area, even without knowing about Alice."

"Every one of us in this clearing," I say, finally realizing who's here and who isn't. "Plus Benjamin."

"There are others who have expressed an interest in joining us as well." Eleazar nods encouragingly as I figure it out. "You may remember young Maggie, for example. And her coven-mate Siobhan seems to have a talent as well. We've persuaded them to stay in Ireland for the moment, but they are worried about retaliation for Maggie's defection."

"The way Aro sees it," Edward says, "we have a dangerous combination of talents that must not remain in too close proximity for long. We can't afford any more concentration without arousing suspicion that we're working to overthrow him."

"He sees us as a _threat?" _I ask. "I knew he wanted our talents for his own use, but I didn't think he'd consider us a threat. He's so powerful."

"Of course he sees us a threat," Edward says evenly. "You may have noticed that since he started trying to force us into the guard, he's actually lost two talented vampires, and a half if you count Demetri." He smiles, obviously enjoying his part in that.

"We know for a fact that he's been keeping tabs on other talented vampires," Eleazar says. "The ones he knows of, anyway. But so have we. And Aro _will_ keep losing his guard if he keeps trying to interfere with us. Fortunately he still trusts me to some extent."

"Does he know you're here?" I ask.

"He asked me to come evaluate your shield," he admits. "Alice said it would be better for us if he thought it was his idea. I'll downplay it as much as possible, but pretty soon he'll send the guard, minus Demetri, of course. They'll come with the pretext of giving a message, but they'll be checking up and doing what they can to intimidate, as always."

So much for our illusion of freedom. Except for my own personal growth issues, it's been like a vacation. A cranky, violent vacation involving the deaths of many woodland creatures.

"They'll send Jane?" I ask Alice, and she nods.

"Jane and Felix for sure," Alice clarifies. "Alec is a question mark at this point."

My vampire mind puts all the pieces into place, and I can see the likely train of events almost as if it were a chess game, or even as clearly as Alice herself. Aro will not believe that we aren't a threat to the Volturi unless we belong to him in some manner of speaking. I know him well enough to believe him capable of pushing us until he forces us to act out his sick, paranoid delusions, if only in self-defense. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy, just like what happened with poor Didyme.

"Any way we could arrange for Aro to lose her too when she comes?" I ask.

"That will be up to Jane," Eleazar replies evenly. "If Jane and the others for that matter, choose to leave us unharmed, then we will of course leave her in peace to go along her way."

"And if she acts like the sadistic creep she is?" I ask.

"Then as you said earlier, we need a backup plan," Edward says. "Which is why we're here."

"So we're here because we need to plan to do what Aro fears we'll do?" I ask finally, laughing at the irony of it all. "What, are we going to take down the Volturi after all, just because Aro assumes we will?"

"Nothing that big," Jasper says decisively. "At least, it hasn't come to that yet. But we can and will defend ourselves in the worst-case scenario. I've got a few ideas that just might work."

"Jane _is _a worst-case scenario," I say, my hands clenched into tight little fists. "I'm in."

**~oЖo~**

After our discussion in the woods, we don't mention it again. Our lives get back to the same rhythm as before, except now with the bonus of that special feeling you get when you're waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, and the _really _special feeling of being prepared.

We hunt and practice working with our talents. We fill the house with music and hunt some more, trying not to forget that this way of life is temporary, at best. We send Aro the recording and wait for him to act. It doesn't take him long, and as usual, he surprises us.

I'm reading while the ongoing chess tournament continues, and because no one will play them and it's pointless to play each other, Alice and Edward are playing a duet, a violin showpiece called _La Gitana_, which seems to be Jasper's favorite.

In the middle of a particularly gorgeous passage, Alice drops her bow.

"Damn," Edward says with a morbid laugh. "I guess Aro liked the recording."

"It's not funny," Alice glowers, inspecting her bow for damage.

"What?" I ask. "What's Aro going to do?"

"One of his cryptic messages, I take it?" Eleazar looks amused.

"He's sending flowers as a _thank you,_" she hisses.

"That's what he always does," I say automatically.

"Yes, but who will deliver them?" Jasper asks, his back ramrod straight. "The guard?"

"No, a human will. He's paying extra for remote delivery," she says gravely. "Everyone but Carlisle and maybe Rose will have to leave. He wants to make Bella have to sign for them, too. He thinks it's funny, but he wants to give her an excuse to taste human blood."

"Roses, extra thorns," Edward explains. "Two dozen, hand delivered, of course."

"Can you even order extra thorns?" Esme asks doubtfully. "Poor Bella. That would be too much for any newborn to resist."

My mouth pools with venom at the mere thought of a human bleeding on our doorstep, and Jasper looks slightly uncomfortable. He's gotten better around people, but since he feels everyone else's bloodlust on top of his own, any sign of a delivery truck is a signal for both of us to get as far away as possible.

"And you still think Aro respects you, Carlisle?" Rose says angrily. "This doesn't seem like it to me. I can stay behind and sign, but I'm not cleaning up any blood."

"He has never respected my lifestyle choice," Carlisle says, looking disappointed, if not entirely surprised. "But I did hope he had more respect for me than this shows. Thank God we have you, Alice. Should we prepare for a visit?"

"Pretty soon," she sighs. "But we've got some time. A few weeks, I think."

**~oЖo~**

"You know what I like?" Emmett asks several days later, the light from his laptop making his face glow with an eerie bluish light. Rose smirks behind her book, and I'm sure Edward's getting a mindful of what Emmett likes right now. He must be used to it.

I'm trying to read under the piano while Edward experiments with composition, trying out variations on Rachmaninoff preludes. It sounds good. He stops and starts over and over again, and while I can kind of tune this out, Emmett's comments have begun to annoy me.

"Watching animals hump on the Internet?" I ask, because it's about time somebody called him on that.

"Hey, those turtles are insane," he argues. "I guess Edward tells you everything, huh?"

"Why would I tell her that?" Edward scowls. "_I _don't even want to know what you're thinking; why would I taint my marriage with a visual like that?"

"Seriously, Emmett, have you _met _Edward?" I ask incredulously.

Edward's socked foot nudges my shoulder, and I capture it easily, running my fingernails lightly along his instep until he laughs and wriggles out of my grasp. I give up on my book and emerge from under the piano, standing behind Edward to run my fingers through his hair while he plays. He tips his face up to mine, and I kiss him, our lips meeting upside-down.

"You leave the stupid video clips open every time," Rose complains. "I couldn't tell if you were trying to give me a hint or just being computer incontinent."

"Emmett doesn't really hint, Rose," Edward observes, adding a lazy, meandering flourish to the melody. "I vote for incontinence."

"Have you seen the snakes?" Emmett continues, undaunted. "They have two penises, Rose, you've got to see this."

"I'm getting really thirsty," I say, changing the subject. "I could probably go out alone if nobody else feels like going."

Edward frowns. He almost always goes with me, but the music flows out of him in a rare form— free and easy, everything just working without it feeling like work. This kind of composing shouldn't be interrupted for anything.

"Honestly, I can go by myself," I tell him. "I wish I could stay and listen, but I do need to hunt. Stay, you're in the zone. Enjoy it."

"You really shouldn't hunt alone yet," he says. "Can you wait an hour?"

"Honestly, I don't see why I have to bother anyone at this stage. I'm totally fine by myself."

"Forget it," Rose orders, gathering her hair into a tight ponytail. "You're not going by yourself, and anyway I could use some fresh air."

There's no point in arguing with her when she uses that bossy tone of voice, so I blow Edward a kiss on my way out, not bothering to put on shoes. It's easier to climb trees barefoot, and it's not like my feet are going to get hurt on anything.

"Want to race?" Rose asks, arms akimbo as she surveys the forest. "How about to that one fork in the river where that odd-looking spruce is?"

"You mean the one that looks like an gnarled old man in a drooping wizard's hat?" I smile, as she nods. "It's pretty far. You think you can win this time?"

The only one to beat me in a footrace so far is Edward, and not by much.

"You're getting weaker every day," she taunts, starting to walk fast. "I'm bound to win sometime."

I laugh, and just start running, enjoying the cool air, and the snow under my feet. It's mostly dark all the time now, and I'm kind of hoping to see the Northern Lights again.

It never gets old.

"You could try to win without cheating," she calls, and I really do seriously think about it for a second.

I let Rose keep within a few feet of me for a while, just to make her think she has a chance, but the giddiness of the night air just gets to me, and I want to fly. I use a boulder as my springboard and jump in a high arc above the trees, ignoring Rose's protest as I manage to get a pretty good deal ahead of her. I catch a whiff of mule deer, but decide to wait till after the race is over. They're far too easy to catch.

My legs feel like an absurdly fast pair of scissors as I cut through the forest, finding another boulder to jump off of, gaining yet another advantage in distance. This time I am not so lucky in where I land, overshooting a snow drift to wind up in a cluster of bare trees, the branches tearing fabric as they bend and break against me. A quick survey of my clothes tells me that I'll never wear any of this ever again, unless I decide to go a little punk. Who even knows what my hair looks like? It feels like a lion's mane.

I catch a whiff of a vaguely familiar animal on the wind, and try to place it. I know I haven't smelled it as a vampire, so it must be somewhere in my human memory, perhaps something at a zoo, or a circus? Whatever it is evokes a vague sense of wonder and excitement.

It isn't very appealing as far as food goes, but somehow exciting. My mind breaks down the scent: definitely herbivore, definitely large. What's most curious to me is the sense of a missing memory. I know this scent, but not as a vampire, and it's driving me crazy that I can't remember. The wind shifts a little and I start to track it, worried that I may lose whatever it is before I figure out what it is.

One more leap in the direction of the scent—it's only when in midair I can hear the animal lumbering, a soft whinny, and the warning bells go off in my head, too late to turn around.

And I really, really need to turn around. But I can't, and see that I'm going to end up not more than a few feet behind it, unable to do anything but hold my breath in terror as the beast turns around.

It's a horse.

A horse, with a rider. A very bundled-up human rider, so bundled up I didn't even smell him over the earthy equine scent. At least, I'm pretty sure it's a him. He seems tall, and broad-shouldered. Beyond that, it's all snowsuit.

My feet hit the snowy ground with a solid thud, a sound that unfortunately gets the attention of both horse and rider. The man turns in his saddle, his widening eyes barely visible through orange-tinted visors covering his face. I can only imagine what he thinks, seeing a barefoot, under-dressed woman in the middle of the Yukon, in the middle of dark winter.

To think of it, I doubt he can see me well at all. As if to punctuate this thought, he points the long metallic cylinder of a flashlight at me, the yellowish light barely adequate for human sight, I'd imagine. I think the snow reflects more from the moonlight.

The horse, however, has no problem rightly perceiving me as a threat. The moment his horse sees me, she rears up in alarm, eyes and nostrils flaring, making an impressively loud whinny of terror as her rider tumbles into a heap, nearly at my feet. He gets up immediately and chases after her a few steps. Thankfully he's unharmed. So far.

"Sasha," he bellows at the galloping beast, holding his thick scarf away from his mouth.

I can smell him now, just a little as his breath hits the air in the frosty, smoke-like vapor that I will never again see from my own lips, and my hands ball up into fists as I fight the urge to lure, and kill.

"Dammit," he says, stooping to retrieve some sort of bag that dropped off with him. "She normally doesn't spook so easy. She'll come back in a minute, most likely."

_She won't, but someone else might, if we're lucky. Maybe I can last a whole minute, and Rose will get here before anything happens._

As he speaks and turns to me, his scent hits me. I close my eyes and sway, trying to fight this wicked thing welling up inside of me, taking over. It's not a wordless rage, not a blind thirst. Not at all. It feels cunning and strong, and it whispers slitheringly in my brain: _Why shouldn't you have this? This is what you are now._

I back away from him, holding my breath. I know I'm supposed to fight this, but it's getting hard to remember why. Or_ how_.

"Miss? Miss? Are you okay?" he asks, slowly advancing toward me. His eyes widen as he fully takes in my appearance. "My God, you must be freezing! Where are your clothes? Where are your _shoes_?"

I shake my head, holding up one hand. He holds one hand out, like you would if you were trying to pet a skittish deer.

"_Don't_," I whisper, watching his mouth. It's flush pink from the cold, his breath coming out in the most alluring puffs of steam.

"I swear, I'm not going to hurt you," he says soothingly. "I'm a forest ranger; I'm here to help. Now I don't know how you got out here like this, or what happened to you, but we need to get you covered up immediately. You're probably in shock."

He tilts his visor away from his face, and his scent hits me full-on, hot and mouthwateringly divine. I try to force myself to back away as he inches toward me, but it feels as though the earth is a giant magnet, and my feet made of iron.

I can't move.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs, as mesmerized as I am, but evidently for a completely different reason. "What happened to you? Where the hell did you come from?"

He flashes a badge at me, misinterpreting my hesitation. He has a name, an address, both of which are now etched in my memory. The thing inside me carefully and horrifyingly notes that, should we be interrupted, I can always find him again.

He comes ever closer, and I lean in, breathing deeply. It's too much.

"I'm here to help you. Let me get you warm, okay?"

He unzips his snowsuit until I stop him with my hand, unable to deal with his tantalizing scent. Somewhere in my mind I hear warning bells, alarms, practically see the metaphorical flashing red lights—but his neck is exposed and my throat is on fire.

"Please, we're running out of time, miss." He touches my arm, his puffy gloves soft. "You _need_ my warmth."

_Yes, you do, _the thing agrees, and I lose my will to argue any further.

My body seems to move of its own accord, far too fast to be human. His eyes widen at the last second, and truly unable to stop myself, I sink my teeth into his neck, where his skin throbs to the beat of a maddening drum. The hot liquid rush pulses thickly down my throat, and the beast hisses with satisfaction.

It's so good. It's so much better than any animal I've ever tasted. This human's blood is the most divine thing I've ever tasted.

A blonde streak emerges from the evergreens with a crash, her eyes hot with fury as she approaches. I panic in the face of her rage, and stop, barely on my second mouthful. Still not thinking, I hurry to seal his wound with a quick swipe of my tongue.

_What am I doing?_

My instincts are in total conflict, my head in chaos as shame washes over me even as I crouch protectively over my prey. I want to hide, deny, and above all, keep drinking.

"No, no, no, Bella, no!" she cries, approaching me. Us.

I snarl at her without meaning to, the cunning thing inside hissing at me to defend what's mine.

Rosalie blurs, and I feel the sting before I've registered that she's slapped me, hard.

I gasp, and look down in shock at the human in my arms. His eyes roll back into his head, but his heart still thumps a wet, delicious beat. I'm torn between shame and thirst, between wanting more and desperately wanting this not to have happened.

"What did you do?" she wails, her face a tearless mask of anguish. "Bella, no! We don't take human life! Never humans, never."

God, she sounds as disappointed as I should feel. She looks...heartbroken, and it really hits me.

This isn't an animal. It isn't supposed to be prey. _He _isn't prey. He's a sentient creature, and I've acted like a demon, just like _them. _The Volturi_. _

The park ranger's eyes flutter open, wide with confusion and shock as he regains consciousness.

"I didn't mean to," I say in a whisper, as I realize what's about to happen. "I really didn't. I'm so sorry."

Riley Biers opens his mouth, his lips distorting as the venom— _my venom_—kicks in, and begins to scream.

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: At the risk of jinxing myself, I'm already well into writing the next chapter. Also, In case you missed it, I've posted another FGB outtake, and it has the violin piece mentioned in the middle of this. As I said before, I've got a few more outtakes to write, but as far as I know, no specific requests at this time. If you bought an outtake and you know what you want, let me know!**


	41. The Law of Unintended Consequences

**Chapter 41 The Law of Unintended Consequences**

**Thanks to the lovely and talented NelsonSmandela for the beta, to Algie "it's UNKINDNESS OF RAVENS", and to Detochkina for the gorgeous Russian song and previewing.**

**Chapter Music**

**Martin Phipps: "I've seen Hell" (**_**North and South**_** soundtrack- if you haven't seen this BBC miniseries, I love it)**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=h2OV-wHv_Q&feature=related**

**Arvo Pärt: "De Profundis"**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=1eSz2J3nS2o**

**Aleksander Dolski: "Two Birds"**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=GKIwm39zboM**

**Disclaimer: Twilight isn't mine. But I promise ... I do have a plan.**

**~oЖo~**

Riley Biers seems to be a bit too tall to fit comfortably on our couch. Not that he _could_ be comfortable at all, what with being in the worst kind of hell imaginable at the moment. I wish there was something I could do for him, to help ease his pain. I'm obviously in way over my head, but I have to do something. Anything.

The others aren't even including me in the discussion of what to do with the unfortunate creature once he comes out of it — not that I can blame them. As soon as I realized the horror of what I had done, I went nearly catatonic from shock and guilt. The arrival of my entire vampire family mere moments later to witness me sitting in the snow, cradling the evidence of my failure. It was more than I could take, unable to look at anyone or any thing but three drops of scarlet blood, glistening like ripe, poisonous berries in the snow.

I don't even know how we got back to the house, exactly. Snow and trees somehow blurred, and we were all in the living room with people talking and making no sense whatsoever. I do remember Edward holding me and Jasper telling everyone to leave me alone, because according to him, I "feel like an emotional short-circuit".

Some time later — _minutes? hours?_ — I finally come out of it and try to think of some way to begin to atone for what I've done. Feeling guilty, frustrated, and useless, I find some soothing music with a serious, but oddly comforting, tone in Alice's iPod. I hope it helps Riley in some tiny way as it did me during my change.

I listen for a moment, as a solo violin carries a bittersweet, soothing tune above a gently sad orchestra. Surely that's okay. Maybe Edward, Alice or Jasper can tell me what kind of music he liked. _Likes_, I mean. Maybe I can find his house and find his own music.

"Sorry," I murmur to him, adjusting his scarf again to keep the muffled sounds of agony to a minimum. "I'm really, _really_ sorry."

Horrible as it sounds, I don't think I can take any more of the screaming. I try moving my shield over him and over just part of his mind, which, after a bit of experimentation, seems to help minutely. His heart even slows, just a little from the rapid tattoo of fear and anguish it was a moment before. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I take it as a good sign.

I throw my shield over him and watch as his movements … they don't change at all. I try to move my shield over just part of him, thinking to minimize his pain, but for some reason the shield resists. It seems to want to either cover him completely or not at all.

Fortunately, he came with lots of clothing for padding and insulation, so with his nice green knit scarf wound tight around his mouth and his puffy coat all zipped up, he almost doesn't look like he's suffering too much. I take one of Esme's colorful chenille throws and tuck it under his head, improvising what I hope is a soft pillow. I look around and find a matching throw and tuck it around his legs.

"What are you doing?" Emmett asks from behind me. "Or maybe I should ask, what are you _trying_ to do?"

I smooth over the scarf holding his jaw tight, trying not to feel ridiculous.

"Trying to make him comfortable I guess?" I say lamely.

Emmett gives me a loaded look, and my shoulders sag in defeat. We both remember what transformation is like. The man in front of us doesn't know if he's alive, or even in a house, much less on a nice couch.

My efforts are pretty much ridiculous, but Emmett doesn't seem to be here to give me a hard time. He doesn't press, scold, or try to reassure me, as everyone else has. He just waits, patiently, perfectly willing to let me be quiet, which is exactly what I need. Oddly enough, a few minutes of this makes it easier for me to open up.

"I can't believe I messed up like that," I confess, finally. "We were all so careful. I feel like I've ruined everything."

"Only Alice and Carlisle have perfect records," he says, to my surprise. "Maybe Rosalie never drank human blood, but she did kill."

"I did both," I observe morosely. "Well killed as much as any of us have been killed. I guess this is sort of the vampire version of a teen pregnancy, isn't it?"

He chokes on a laugh, obviously trying to keep quiet.

"What?" I ask, momentarily disoriented.

"You're still a newborn," he observes wryly. "The only one I've ever heard of making vampires as a newborn was Aro himself. Better not tell him, or he might get jealous. It's supposed to be nearly impossible."

_Yeah, well, 'impossible' means nothing where Rose is concerned._

"I'm glad _someone's _able to find humor in this situation," I mutter. "Where are the others? Have they finished deciding how to handle this yet?"

"Progress, at least" he nods. "They finally stopped all trying to take the blame, and they moved on to the next phase."

"How can they think it's anyone's fault but mine?" I ask incredulously.

"You are way down on the list of responsible parties, little girl," he informs me. "Alice only saw it happen when you smelled the horse, Rose thinks she should have made you stay with her, Edward blames himself for staying back, and Carlisle says he should have insisted on more supervision."

"I can't believe I did this," I whisper.

"So tell me," he says, eyes glowing with curiosity. "I've never tried to change anyone, but like I said, it seems like it would be really hard. How did you manage to stop drinking?"

"Pure, unadulterated terror," I tell him. "Believe me, I wasn't _trying_ to make a vampire, but the look on her face—"

"Rosalie's death glare?" he asks, already nodding in understanding. "I see. There is something fundamentally stupefying about it."

"Technically she hit me, too, but it was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the wrath in her eyes. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die."

"That's my girl," he smiles ruefully, flashing his dimples, which gives him a deceptively innocent appearance. I bet they're a handy weapon against her rage.

From what I've heard, Emmett has earned that rage a few times.

"How do you live with the guilt?" I ask quietly. "I can't even look at Edward right now, much less Carlisle. I was going to kill him if she hadn't stopped me."

He doesn't answer right away, but when he does, I can tell he's taking my question seriously.

"You feel bad for a while, and you _should_ feel bad," he says carefully. "So you try to learn the lesson, and maybe do something good to balance it out. Eventually you just have to put it in the past, and try harder, no matter how good they taste."

I look at him in horrified surprise, but he merely raises his eyebrows. It's kind of a test, I think.

"No taste could justify this," I nod at the writhing man on the couch. "I wish Edward would yell at me, but he blames himself, which is way worse. Why can't what I did just be my fault?"

"Because you married a control freak," Rose says from the doorway, obviously still angry with me. "Good luck with that one. Emmett, I better not have just heard you discussing how fantastic human blood tastes."

"I wouldn't call it a discussion about that," Emmett says defensively. "I was just helping her understand that we _don't kill humans._ No matter what."

Rosalie arches an elegant eyebrow at him, unimpressed with his teaching skills.

"Rose, don't be mad at me," he says, approaching her cautiously. "You know how incredibly beautiful you get when you're angry, and then I'll bug you trying to get into your pants all day. It's a vicious, but preventable cycle."

"That's not going to work." She narrows her eyes. "You need to set a good example for her, not remind her of the reason she did what she did."

With a little huff, she whirls, flouncing up the stairs with Emmett hot on her trail. His footsteps sound just as loud as hers, if not quite as stompy.

"Come on, babe," he grovels in a low voice that sounds more practiced than desperate. "You know I would be a rotting carcass without you, my bones dried up and the marrow chewed out by adorable little bear cubs..." his voice gets muffled by the slam of a door.

"They'll be busy for a while," Edward says quietly from the doorway. "Would you mind shielding me? They can get pretty graphic, and if I have a choice..."

I throw my shield over him, grateful he's not so angry at me that he doesn't want my thoughts. He steps closer, his dark eyes full of compassion.

_I am so sorry, Edward. I had no idea it would be so difficult. I really did try to resist._

"I know, Bella; I saw," he says, gently cupping my face in his hands. "Alice saw you trying to stop yourself. Once we got within range, I saw your struggle through his own eyes."

_Oh, God. _Of course. He kisses my forehead as my mind races, and I realize how it must have been for all of them.

"You read his mind, didn't you?" I ask aloud, guilt twisting me up so much I forget he can hear me for a moment, but I switch back. _What was he thinking? Was he afraid_?

Edward looks at the man writhing on the sofa, his expression unreadable.

"He said almost everything he thought," he says in a low voice. "He was very worried about you. He was truly concerned for your safety. He thought you might be crazy, or possibly that you'd been attacked by an animal."

He frowns, deep in thought.

"Of course, he was struck by your beauty, but I can't blame him for that since I happen to agree. His intentions were honorable, though. Judging from the little I saw of his thoughts, he seemed very decent."

_Decent. Well, given that he's going to continue to exist, that's … good? _There's no way to finish that thought without it sounding bad one way or another.

"So, I guess this means we've got another newborn?" I ask aloud. "We can't just send him out into the wild, by himself."

"We can't keep him here, either," he says with some difficulty. "It's far too dangerous, with Volturi guard coming so soon."

Alice had seen the decision made in Aro's mind soon after he sent the roses. He had to consider the message he wanted to send, and deciding who, among his most trusted guard, he could spare for a few days, and who would remain to guard him. It's an excellent point, but still. The park ranger's general innocence just makes me more determined to help him.

_But you don't want him here all the same, do you? _I can hear it in his voice, and see it in his eyes. His eyes flash to mine, shadows of jealousy plain to see. _I'm not attached to him, but I do feel responsible. Can you understand that? _

"I understand, but there are several reasons for moving him," he says, shadows clearing from his eyes, leaving a weariness that feels like a needle to my chest. "The others agree with me. Fortunately, we have a pretty good option, which I believe will ease your mind."

"What's going to happen to him?" _I just don't want him to be alone and confused. You can appreciate that, right?_

"Of course," he says, his eyes softening. "Eleazar feels that they can help him in Denali."

I sigh, feeling like most of a huge weight has been lifted off my chest.

"So they'd help him try not to kill anyone?" I ask hopefully, earning a wry little smile from Edward at the word _try. _"I feel awful. It's not fair to them to have to deal with my lack of control. Why should their lives become so complicated?"

Edward seems strangely amused by this statement, but only shakes his head at my confusion. He nods in the direction of the door, where Eleazar stands, watching us with a kindly expression.

"It's an odd thing, Bella," he says with a grim chuckle. "Our lives in Denali have been getting complicated indeed, well before your lapse. In the larger scheme of things, some good may come of this."

_Is he just being polite? _I ask silently, and marvel as Edward shakes his head. _Are you just being polite?_

"No," he says softly, kissing my forehead again.

That seems too good to be true. I know what a huge pain in the ass I've been, so how could taking care of a newborn be good for anyone? Unless...

"Does he have a talent?" I ask Eleazar.

"No, I haven't seen any evidence of that," he says, with a kind look toward the ranger. "However, Alice, Jasper and Edward agree that his character as a human was compassionate, so he may adjust to our lifestyle easily if we help him. And with the way things have been going, it might be good for us to have the strength of a newborn on our side, should the need arise."

Gratitude bubbles up in my chest and I fling myself into Eleazar's arms, evidently surprising him by the gesture, or maybe accidentally crushing him a little. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing I could still shed tears. I remember the release it used to give me, the much-needed catharsis. I vaguely remember how Edward would sometimes touch my tears, taste them, as if it were the only way he had to share the experience.

But now I'm quite literally too hard for that sort of thing.

It feels almost as if the ghost of a good cry has welled up in my chest, trapped under the diamond-hard surface of my vampire perfection. I feel the unbearable, permanent remorse, trapped inside me like some hideous new organ of unmovable stone.

"There, there," he says gently, patting my hair in a fatherly manner, "Everyone makes mistakes, my dear. Let's not waste our energies wallowing in guilt over something that can't be changed. We do our best with what we have, don't we? Just remember how terrible you feel now the next time you're confronted with temptation."

I nod, grateful for what feels like absolution.

"I want to help in any way I can," I say, my voice heavy with emotion.

His expression is both kind and deadly serious. Unlike Carlisle, Eleazar has tasted human blood. He knows how I've failed, what I feel.

"I'm glad to see you taking this so seriously, to see this emotion in you," he continues, holding my chin as a kind uncle would a child. "Can you tell me why?"

"I don't know," I say, frowning.

"I think you do," he prompts. "I know you've had a hard time remembering what it was like to be human, but you've also spent a lot of time reading your journals. What would you say has changed most for you?"

I pull away, slightly uncomfortable with the question. He waits, patiently.

"I don't know how to say it," I begin slowly. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, because in most ways, everything about me has improved. I'm more intelligent, faster, stronger … prettier, even."

"Yes," he says encouragingly. I'm on the right track. "But..."

"But at the same time, I feel like I've lost something," I say, my voice sounding unnaturally smooth to my perfect hearing. "And at first I was glad. Apart from the anger, I was _glad _I couldn't cry anymore, happy I was stronger, smarter, so … _above-it-all. _It sounds so arrogant, saying it out loud like that, doesn't it? I wanted to be stronger for Edward, for all of you. But the strength, it has a sinister side that's so _cold_,and it was justifying everything. Telling me that I had the right to kill. That it was my nature."

"I know, sweetheart." I feel Edward's hands slip around my waist as I lean into the sound of his voice. "We've all been through this, and it gets easier, I promise. The fact that you feel regret means that you can chain the killer, sublimate the desire, and channel that energy for something more noble."

He feels almost warm against my back. The comfort of his flesh, once so imposingly perfect, but now so much like mine, gives me strength. There's a comforting logic about it all; I know he's not a monster, so I don't have to be one either.

"Edward is right," Eleazar says. "But now that you've seen the worst of your new nature, you won't ever forget it."

I nod, and it feels like a vow.

"Then master yourself." It's a simple statement, and I let it sink in until the words are etched in my mind, and — if I have one — my soul.

It's too soon after my enormous mistake to say so aloud, but I know intuitively that human blood will never hold the same temptation for me again.

**~oЖo~**

The drive to Denali doesn't take the nearly twenty hours indicated by online maps, what with Edward watching for cops and traffic, and Alice watching for roadblocks. The roads this far north can be pretty treacherous this time of year, but four separate vehicles finely tuned and driven by vampires can go pretty far, pretty fast in any weather.

I try not to look in the far back, where poor Riley writhes in agony, because it sets off a chain of emotions, with Jasper getting the combined force of it all. First I feel guilty, then Edward, then _Alice_,and then Jasper sends waves of it back at all of us without meaning to. For once, I just let him soothe me with his emo-waves, but only because my guilt has this effect on everyone else. About thirty minutes into the trip, however, it occurs to me to put my shield over Riley, making it easier for the other three. It seems to protect Edward and Jasper from sharing a part in his change, and even seems to stop Alice's headache.

It also helps to stare out at the landscape, as we pass through park after national park. The modest hills and low mountains of our part of the Yukon seem to roll like frozen ocean waves as we chase the sun, the frozen peaks and dips becoming more dramatic and severely beautiful, in deepening shades of green.

By unspoken, mutual agreement, or maybe it's just because all the hard-core musicians are in the same vehicle feeling understandably moody, we fill the car with grand, sweeping orchestral and somber choral pieces from our iPods — anything suitable for driving in a majestic wilderness with a dying man turning vampire.

"What are you thinking?" Edward asks, and I catch his worried glance in the rear-view mirror.

"I'm just wondering if the music helps him at all," I admit.

"I think it helps a little," Jasper assures me. "He seemed a bit more anxious whenever it stopped."

Mollified, I lean back and focus on my shield. I've never held it over anyone for this length of time before. It seems to want to stretch back to me, but the longer I resist, the easier it is to control.

The list of eligible music for the task is unsurprisingly long, thanks to Jasper's penchant for film scores, Edward's love of the Romantic Era, and my sick fetish for requiems. Particularly the Mozart, "Lacrimosa." It's the next best thing to shedding actual tears.

After a while, Riley stops moving at all, having gone into the next phase of his change, where the venom has paralyzed his limbs and nervous system. I've never seen this part of transformation before, and I stare at him with a strange mixture of relief and horror. He looks far less human, but not like an empty shell as dead people look. He's still there. He's not a _what, _but still a _who. _Just … different.

"You okay?" Edward asks, his eyes worried in the rear-view mirror.

I reach my hand out and touch his face. By some miracle he doesn't pull away.

"Better than I deserve," I admit, glancing back again. "Do you think he'll be okay with them?"

"I can't see much yet," Alice shrugs, "but I don't see anything bad so far."

"He'll be fine," Jasper assures me. "Tanya and Irina are fun girls. He may be _more_ than fine."

"True," Alice snorts, evidently in agreement. "No special talent required to see _that_."

"God, that reminds me," Edward sighs. "Remember our signals?"

"Of course," I smile to myself. "Happy to help."

He's going to hold my hand or else have his hand on some squeezable part of me, and will squeeze once for yes, twice for no, and three times in succession if he wants the shield off. Currently, it's off, just in case humans, particularly law enforcement, with the way he's speeding, are anywhere close.

The clouds break, and Mount McKinley appears, unreal and glorious as a strange dream of another planet, dwarfing the mountains ridges that, up until seconds before had impressed me so much.

"Turn's coming up," Alice murmurs, seconds before Eleazar's car flashes the signal. "This isn't their usual place. Edward, she's going to see the cars in a second."

"Bella?" he asks, reaching back to squeeze my ankle. I slip my shield over him snugly, wondering if he can feel the difference between it floating like a bubble or like this, like a mental hug. One corner of his mouth curls in amusement. "No, I can't, but the idea is nice."

There's a flash in the smudgy mountainous distance, like light reflecting off a mirror. We all tilt our faces toward it with sudden rapt attention, and it's not long before my sharp eyes discern a house, with a shiny gold car parked in front, sunlight reflecting off its highly polished surface. The house grows bigger as we get closer, and another flash gets my attention, but this time it's from an upstairs window, and this time it's not reflected light, but pale skin and hair.

There's a gorgeous female vampire with red-gold curls, lounging in an open upstairs window, one pale shapely leg swinging lazily as she takes in the approaching vehicles. At first I think that she might be naked, but as we get closer I see that she's dressed in a barely-there outfit of palest peach which just gives the general impression of nakedness. There's definitely a sort of burlesque appeal to her, but it's an in-your-face sensuality that I can't imagine Edward ever finding attractive.

I think.

"What do you mean, _you think_? You've read my diaries. You know it for a fact," he says, his tone somewhere between amused and slightly offended. "You're not _jealous_, are you?"

"You would love that, wouldn't you?" I murmur, just glad that with my shield around him, he can't read Jasper's mind at the moment, and that Jasper can't read me, for that matter.

"You've no idea." Now he's completely amused. "And if you keep thinking things like that, I don't have to read Jasper's mind."

_She is really pretty,_ I observe, as she jumps down from her window with a blinding smile and more grace than a gazelle.

Now that I see her in person, it's hard to believe that with a choice between this goddess and nothing, Edward decided to be celibate.

"Believe it," he says darkly as he parks. "She's got nothing on you."

I hesitate before getting out, reluctant to meet anyone under such humiliating circumstances, least of all this attractive female who can be trusted with human men, who hasn't failed the family as I have.

"Bella," he says softly, grabbing my wrist as I try to get out of the van. He pulls me to him, and kisses me until the icy fist of jealousy and self-reproach loosens its grip on my chest. He doesn't stop until my lips curve into the smallest smile under his. "Better?"

_Yes. Is this what I should do when you brood?_ I ask silently, and he leans his forehead against mine.

"It's what you've done, what you do," he tells me. "You've always known how to soothe me."

"You're too hard on yourself," I remind him, looking over as two familiar cars pull up next to our van. Carlisle and Esme jump out of a sleek black Audi and embrace Tanya in turns, with Eleazar and Carmen, while Emmett's ATV finally appears in the long driveway.

When we finally join the others, they're either being tactful or all to busy with their greetings to notice our private interlude. From the looks of Rosalie's hair, she and Emmett have had an interesting interlude of their own.

"Emmett, you're looking fine," Tanya says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What do you bench these days, trucks? Mobile homes?"

"Good to see you, Tanya," he says, easily lifting Riley out of the back of the van. "Just newbies lately, and their lunches. This one's a two-for."

I hide my face in my hands, mortified.

"Still too soon?" he winks at me. "Where do you want him, house mistress?"

"Always the instigator, Tanya," Rose snorts, enveloping her in a strangling embrace as we follow them into the house. "Stop trying to get my man in trouble with me. He's much smarter than he looks."

The house is far less rustic on the inside than it is on the outside, furnished with dark woods and rich colors. Like us, they have a fireplace which seems to get some use, but over the mantel there's a black-framed painting of a beautiful blonde woman with high cheekbones and a gentle smile. Underneath it there's a slim white taper in an exquisite candle-holder, carved from ivory, I think. Next to it is a glass of water, with a piece of dark bread covering the top. I have no idea what it can mean, but as I'm trying to think of a polite way to voice my curiosity, Edward squeezes my hand and shakes his head slightly.

When I turn my attention back to the room, Emmett and Rose have arranged my victim on a low, long table, and Tanya turns her attention toward us. Her gaze on me is appraising, but not unkind. She seems more curious than anything else, and when her eyes linger on our joined hands, she smiles somewhat wistfully.

After Edward made such a point to reassure me, I feel far more generous toward her. After all, he refused her long before he chose me, and she and her family are doing us a huge favor.

And really, I can't blame her for wanting Edward, can I? He's _Edward. _ Apparently he finds this thought amusing, because I can feel him vibrating with suppressed laughter. _Glad I amuse you_, I think, with only a tinge of sarcasm.

"Being married suits you, Edward," Tanya smiles sweetly, crossing her arms lightly in front of her chest. "You're even more handsome when you're not always wincing. I knew you just needed a little loosening up, and it seems I was right."

"Edward isn't wincing because he can't read your mind right now," Rose explains. "He's using Bella's shield. Believe me, he hasn't loosened up quite _that _much yet."

"Must you be so blunt?" Carlisle hisses quietly at her, while Edward stiffens slightly at my side.

"If I were Tanya I'd want to know," she says defensively. "I don't see why we can't be more honest about these things."

"I'd be happy to tell you what most people think of _you,_" Edward offers. "I guarantee you'll change your mind."

"Oh please, it saves time," Rose explains unapologetically, rolling her eyes at him. "I _like_ to hang out here, and she's always driving Edward bonkers with her porno-thoughts. I know you do it to provoke him, T, but he gets pissy, and we always have to leave before I'm ready to go. Besides, now that you know, you won't misinterpret his behavior and think Edward's okay with whatever kinky shit comes into your head now."

"Rose, that's enough," Edward says harshly. "You're being cruel."

Even though I agree with Edward, Rose does have a point. It might have been better made in private, though.

"I understand Rose, Edward," Tanya says evenly. "Her bluntness is not going to kill me, but I do appreciate you trying to spare my feelings. You've always been a gentleman in the truest sense of the word."

"I know you've never meant me any harm," Edward says uncomfortably.

"I suppose your wife's gift will spare us both unnecessary embarrassment." She turns to me with unexpected warmth, given the awkwardness of the situation. "It's good to finally meet you, Bella. Kate's been raving about you and your gift."

"Guilty as charged," Kate says from the doorway, followed by Garrett and another beautiful female vampire with long, platinum-blonde hair. "Look who I found. This is Irina, and obviously, that's Bella. "

She nods at me in greeting, and the sisters come together in what seems like an often-practiced ritual, hugging briefly in a little triangle. Their bond is so evident, so strong and loving I don't need a gift like Marcus' to appreciate it, although I do wonder how he would see them. I can't remember how old they are, but they seem to move almost as one being.

"They've been together for a thousand years," Edward whispers in my ear, and I notice the rest of their family joining in, Eleazar, Carmen and Garrett obviously moved and warmed by the sisters' affection for each other.

Irina breaks away first, suddenly distracted when she notices Riley. She lets out a low whistle as she approaches his quiet, still form.

"Oooh, he's cute … and tall," she says appraisingly. "I call dibs."

"Don't be so greedy," Tanya elbows her in the ribs. "Besides, I saw him first."

"He _does _like girls, doesn't he?" Irina asks Edward suspiciously.

"Yes," he says, as though it hurts to speak.

"Bella, I have to say," Tanya grins, "you may have taken the most eligible vampire of our kind off the market, but you've been incredibly considerate to provide a quality replacement."

I'm briefly shocked by this blatant objectification, as if we were discussing laundry detergent instead of an actual person. Still, she's being pretty nice about the whole thing.

"I, ah, wish I could do more," I admit awkwardly. "I'm so sorry you have to go through all of this because of my mistake."

"You could go bite another one," Irina teases, and I hide my face in Edward's shoulder.

"My, my, look at that guilt! It's like meeting another Edward," I hear Tanya murmuring to Rose. "I can only imagine their lover's quarrels, all '_I'm so horrible!_' and '_No, my darling, I am the one to blame!_'"

"You have no idea," she agrees.

"_You _have no idea," Jasper says grimly. "You have only seen the barest foothills on the mountain of self-recrimination of which these two are capable. I get to feel it."

"It _is_ my fault," I insist. "Can't I just be sorry for a while?"

"It seems like a waste of time to me," Tanya says. "But if you're in the mood to feel guilty, I admit, my little feelings were hurt when I first heard about you, Bella. I kept telling myself that Edward was secretly in love with Carlisle all this time to sooth my wounded ego."

Carlisle seems alarmed at this. His eyes flicker to Edward, who shakes his head and lets out an exasperated sigh at the same time.

"But if he was holding out for true love," Kate says with a dreamy smile, "well, that's different, isn't it? I think it's sweet, don't you?"

"I think _you're _a sweet newlywed, Kate," Tanya teases, before turning to Carlisle. "Now tell us everything you can about our new friend. On the phone you said he was a ranger?"

"We told you most of what we know," Carlisle says, handing her a duffel bag containing all the personal affects we found on him, and a few from his cabin.

They take it eagerly, their pretty faces alight with curiosity.

"Riley Biers," Irina reads off his ID over Tanya's shoulder. "Why haven't we ever seen you before?"

"We go hunting in Canada all the time," Tanya agrees. "We'd have noticed this one."

"Check the date on his ranger ID," Emmett says helpfully. "He's only been at this a few weeks. His driver's license still has a Toronto address."

"He never made a conscious decision to be where Bella found him," Alice explains. "He didn't even realize he was lost yet. I think that's why I didn't see him until it was too late."

"Poor baby," Irina says thoughtfully. "You said he lived alone? That's kind of a lonely way to live. I bet he was going out of his mind with boredom."

"We didn't see anyone else at his place," Rose says. "He didn't have much in the way of personal stuff besides that computer, and a some letters from his parents and an ex-girlfriend."

"How did you handle his disappearance?" Tanya asks.

"That's just the thing," Emmett says. "We haven't. He's got everything set up for nearly automatic reporting, and since he appears to be doing most of it by entering information into a remote database, we've been keeping it up for him. We can keep doing it until someone decides to make a personal appearance, and we have no idea when that's going to be."

"You don't have to do anything," I offer. "His parents seem to be happy with an occasional e-mail or text at this point."

"The last thing we need is a search squad," Carlisle explains. "Alice thinks we'll all be relocating soon, and we thought perhaps you could give him some options."

"You know I don't approve of this," Irina scowls. "Just because you've gotten away with flouting vampire laws and traditions doesn't mean we all want to take that chance."

"Can't he be part of that decision?" I plead. "He's going to wake up tomorrow. Maybe he'll be able to handle phone calls. Maybe he'll remember and want to choose."

"Someone's going to want to see him in person," Tanya shakes her head. "Someone will check up on him sooner or later. We should give him a clean break."

"Based on the logs, it might take a few months for that," Alice says. "You don't have to decide now. And of course, I'll be happy to help, if he wants to keep up the pretense of his old life. The way he had everything set up, we think he wanted to be alone. But if he goes off the radar now, his parents will cause a problem."

The girls exchange looks. Kate seems sympathetic, but Tanya and Irina don't look like they're going to budge. I feel sick at the thought of his parents, worrying and grieving, months of agonizing and not knowing what happened to their son. They don't deserve that. He doesn't deserve that either.

"Please," Edward says softly, "Please just think about giving him a choice in the matter. We'll use our abilities to make it easier for you."

Tanya looks doubtful, which is an improvement.

"I don't think it can do any harm to wait a few weeks," Carmen says.

"We will discuss it," Irina concedes, "but no promises. We're not doing anything that's going to get us in trouble with the law."

"He really was lonely," Jasper offers, and I think he's using more than words to break the tension. "I only caught the tail end of it before the venom kicked in, but the emotion was intense."

They look him over again, first with pity, then with … something else. I have no idea if Jasper's responsible for that. Edward makes an interesting little noise in response to that thought. I'll have to ask later.

"I think," Tanya says, eyebrows raised, "that loneliness won't be an problem for him any longer."

"Definitely not," Irina grins. "He might have a hard time choosing between us, though."

"Are we going to have a problem?" Eleazar asks warily. "We did promise to help him, not drive him insane when he's already vulnerable."

"Like we've never competed for a man's affections before," Irina says dismissively.

"Or collaborated," Tanya giggles. "We'll be very good to him, don't worry."

My mouth drops open in shock. _Is she talking about sharing him? _I ask Edward, who looks even more scandalized than I am.

"Maybe we shouldn't leave him here after all," he says, glancing over at Riley uneasily.

"No!" Emmett protests. "Don't ruin this for him!"

"Come on, Edward," Jasper looks similarly upset. "He was _very _lonely._"_

"That's just mean," Garrett agrees. "Give the man a chance."

"See?" Tanya says pointedly to Edward.

"Maybe there will be another wedding soon?" Esme asks brightly, completely unfazed.

"He's not even awake, for crying out loud!" Edward complains, looking around for support. "Rose? Are you really okay with this?"

"Geez, prude, it's not like they're going to molest him," Rose says, then shoots daggers at Tanya and Irina, "You're not, right?"

This starts a nearly incomprehensible volley of protests from the pair.

"We would never—"

"Absolutely not—" they say, talking over each other. "Well, we haven't for several decades, that is, after you convinced us it was wrong, no matter how happy the men were after a while."

"—I never heard any complaints," Tanya sniffs.

"Edward's wincing again," Rose points out. "Some might call that a complaint."

"Go easy on him," Carlisle says, and I'm not sure if he means Riley or Edward.. "I know it's been a long time for both of you, but newborns are very emotionally volatile and should be treated with patience and understanding at all times."

Riley, then.

"Don't worry, Carlisle," Tanya insists, smiling angelically. "We'll be gentle with him."

"Jesus," Edward mutters, then turns to whisper in my ear. "I know that look. _Never_ let me know what she's thinking, Bella."

"We'll all look out for him if he needs it," Garrett says, though by his expression I'm sure he agrees with Emmett. "Though we'll have to take turns of course, what with all the comings and goings at the compound."

_Compound? _I look around, and seem to be the only one surprised by this statement.

"How many have come?" Edward asks, looking at Eleazar.

"As of last night, ninety-three in the past year," Irina says. "We currently have three guests at the other house, not including Benjamin, Tia, and Kebi."

_Vampires? _I ask.

_Yes, _he squeezes back once. I look at him, his beautiful face guarded and wary.

_Edward, that's_—he squeezes my hand before I can finish the thought—_really_ _dangerous if they find out._

"So many," Esme breathes during our silent exchange.

"Speaking of, where are Benjamin and Tia?" Eleazar asks Irina. "I thought they were supposed to be coming with you."

"Hunting, I think," she replies vaguely. "Though I really don't think we should leave Kebi alone for too long with the Romanians. We just got her to feed, and I don't trust them. "

"All they want is an end to the Volturi. So many vampires, is not good news," Eleazar frowns. "This is getting decidedly dangerous. I hoped the traffic would slow down while we were away."

"I still say it will come to nothing," Tanya says, though her tone is less than dismissive. "I do not believe we are in serious danger just because some vampires come to visit us."

"They're just curious," Irina agrees. "They come, they ask their questions, and then they leave. It's perfectly natural."

"Most of them don't stay long," Carmen says in her quiet voice, "because we insist they maintain a vegetarian lifestyle while in our area."

"Quite a few give it a try," Garrett says, looking at Kate, "considering the beauty of the vegetarians."

"I don't understand," I say, getting frustrated. "Why are vampires coming here? What do they want?"

"We wanted to wait a bit longer to tell you," Carlisle says, looking guilty. "You were already under so much pressure as a human, and as a newborn you have enough to deal with."

_Deal with what? _I demand silently.

"It still might be too much," Edward says, staring at our hands.

"Sorry," I murmur, relaxing my death-grip.

"Bella can handle this," Alice says warily. "Anyway, I told you, Aro's made up his mind. We all need to be on the same page here."

I turn to Edward and wait, willing my mind to be silent while he gathers his thoughts.

"Do you remember," Edward starts slowly, "all the vampires who came to see us when we were on tour?"

Hazy images come to mind, of Carlisle and Eleazar talking to various vampires. Sometimes friendly, sometimes heated discussions. Edward getting angry about some concert hall in Eastern Europe half-filled with vampires.

He nods. "That's right."

"This is about _us_?" I ask, alarmed.

"You're only a small part of it," Eleazar says. "But I would argue that what is happening now has been building for several hundred years."

"The Romanians would claim longer than that," Irina sniffs, staring at the floor. "But they are notorious troublemakers. They cannot accept things as they are, as we have. They are not practical."

"We're just a symptom," Edward explains. "For a thousand years, the Volturi have been more or less stable."

"Ever since the plague of the immortal children." Tanya's eyes flicker for just an instant to the portrait above the mantle, her eyes shadowed with grief. "You've been told the story?"

"Yes," I say simply, realizing that the lovely woman in the painting above the fireplace must be Sasha, their mother. Carlisle had written about her trial and execution over her creation of a vampire baby, too violent and unstable to control. He also said that the members of the Denali coven rarely mention her name, finding it far too painful to discuss her in casual conversation.

"Since … that terrible time," she continues with great difficulty, "most of the vampire world has had a very simple understanding. There are few rules: you follow them, and you can do as you please. In exchange, the Volturi leave us alone."

"Anyone breaking those few rules receive their punishment, swiftly and with few exceptions," says Irina, a stubborn set to her jaw.

"Talented vampires seem to be forgiven in exchange for servitude to the Volturi," Tanya adds bitterly.

"Tell me, sisters," Garrett challenges, "what precise rule did Amun break? From what our friends have told us, his only crime was trying to hide a talented vampire from the grasping hands of the Volturi, and as far as I know that's not against the law."

"Talented vampires are often provoked or unfairly prosecuted," Eleazar argues. "Having a talent is a double-edged sword in our world, as Bella and Edward know too well. The Volturi have made it nearly impossible to escape their service."

"But _you _left," she counters. "Maggie left."

"Which is why they've all been coming to Denali," Kate explains. "Vampires trust Eleazar and want to know what he thinks about the way they've been acting lately."

"It's not just you and Edward, Bella," Garrett tells me. "There are many who don't like the way justice gets handed down from Volterra, but nobody has had any power to do anything about it."

"Until you two showed up in Italy and Aro started breaking all of his own rules," Eleazar says.

"They've always broken their own rules," Emmett says with exasperation, as though it should be obvious.

"Not in public," Eleazar insists. "Not where anyone can see it. Think about it, if vampires could go around like Edward, getting fame and money just doing things that are difficult for humans but easy for vampires — think about how that would change everything."

"Terrible rumors have been going around for a century," Carmen says sadly, "that Aro is completely mad. They say he killed his own sister. They say he is unstable and unfit to rule, but Caius keeps it hidden because he cannot rule without Aro's talent."

"Those aren't just rumors," I say faintly.

"No, they're not," Eleazar agrees. "But that doesn't change two things: first, that the Volturi still have more concentrated power than anyone—"

"—besides those in this room," Tanya interrupts.

"Which leads me to my second point," Eleazar says gravely. "Those of us in this room to not particularly _wish_ to overthrow the Volturi. We do not wish to rule."

"Unfortunately for us," Edward says, "Aro has become aware that we are _able_, and that alone is enough to drive him bonkers, to use Rosalie's word."

"It hasn't gone unnoticed," Alice says. "We've managed to stave off some of the unrest, but it's starting to get out of hand."

"Eleazar has always been held up as an example that the Volturi can be reasonable," Garrett continues.

"Are they talking about the same Volturi?" I ask, disbelieving.

"Most of us have never met them," Rose reminds me. "Most vampires spend centuries only hearing about them. They might know someone who witnessed a trial, but that's about it."

"And those of us who have had the pleasure," Irina says darkly, "do whatever we can to never repeat the experience."

"To some, Carlisle and I provide proof," Eleazar explains, "or at least some evidence, that the Volturi allow for a certain amount of autonomy, even within the Volturi."

"Caius himself promised us that as long as we follow the few rules they have, we have absolutely nothing to worry about," Tanya says hotly.

"They let Eleazar go," Irina reiterates, "and he's talented. It _is_ proof."

"They let me go, it's true," Eleazar observes, "but my freedom is highly conditional."

"You don't know him," I say, shaking my head. "If Aro hears about all these vampires coming to Eleazar and asking questions, he's going to freak out."

"But we haven't done anything illegal," Tanya says. "We've been bending over backwards to obey the law."

"I am afraid, Tanya, that Aro's greed and madness has begun to overshadow Caius' cold but quite rigid sense of justice," Eleazar says sadly.

"I agree," says Edward. "When Aro finds out about all these vampires coming and going, he's going to react."

"When do you think he'll find out, Alice?" Esme asks.

"I don't know," Alice says quietly. "Since Demetri was exiled, he's been keeping secrets from Aro. He doesn't know everything, but he knows enough to cause problems."

"Demetri's likely to leverage that information," Eleazar frowns. "He probably wants something."

_Now you're crushing my hand_,I think a microsecond before his grip relaxes, accompanied by a whispered "sorry".

"Demetri was exiled?" Irina asks with curiosity. "We haven't seen him in ages, but I can't imagine him taking punishment well. He was so arrogant, always talking about how close he was to Aro, how much influence he had."

"Demetri's off the leash?" Tanya says thoughtfully, her eyes locked on some distant memory. "I always thought Aro was clever enough to keep a wild thing like him tethered."

"We were more clever," Rose says with pride.

"Maybe so," Alice says, with businesslike determination. "But we need to get back _now. _Jane and Alec are on their way. Also that big one, Felix."

"Great," Edward and Emmett say at the same time, though I think Emmett means it.

I take one last look at Riley before we leave, and put my hand on Tanya's arm to get her attention. She looks at me with surprise.

"He likes music," I tell her, trying not to sound pathetic. "He's kind. He tried to help me when he thought I was in trouble. I know I don't know you very well and I have no right to ask, but please be good to him?"

She stares at me, and for the first time I see pain and jealousy in her eyes as they flicker over to where Edward stands, embracing Eleazar goodbye. My shield strains at the complex physical stretching, and envelops both of them at once. Edward's eyes widen at the surprise of being able to read Eleazar's thoughts, and he turns to look in our direction.

"I could say the same to you about him," she says, regaining some of her poise under his scrutiny. "Though I have no more right than you to ask for such things."

I follow the others, not entirely certain of her meaning. As we reach the van, however, I hear the unmistakable sound of a needle hitting a record, followed by the haunting melody of a man singing in Russian.

"Don't worry," Alice says, linking her arm in mine as Jasper climbs in the driver's seat for the trip back. "I'm starting to get a better picture, now that they've had a chance to see him. He's going to be just fine."

Edward wraps his arm around my shoulder and hauls me into the back seat of the van with him.

"That's great," he says a bit brusquely as he settles me firmly on his lap. "Now, do I get my wife back? Please?"

I thread my fingers through his, turning my face to nuzzle into his neck as I slip my shield over him just long enough to tell him something in the way he loves best.

_Silly, jealous man. Don't you know you are my soul? _

"And you are mine," he whispers so quietly only I can hear it.

**~oЖo~**

"Stop the van, Jasper," Alice says after we've been on the road for half an hour. The forest lies deep and green where it isn't frosted by blindingly white snow. "Someone wants to meet us."

"Are you sure?" he asks cautiously, peering out. "It's so sunny. If anyone should drive past—"

"Look," she says, pointing to the south, where a heavy blanket of gray clouds moves in, eerily smooth and swift. At the same time, a hazy mist of snow powder swirls over the road like a lost ghost.

"I've never seen clouds that heavy move like that..." I trail off, seeing the wondrous look on Edward's face as the clouds cover the sun, giving us enough cover. "Is it Benjamin?"

"He's thinking loudly, telling me that they're close by," he confirms, as Jasper pulls over slowly. "If you tap the horn twice they'll come to us."

Jasper beeps twice, and I open the side door, reveling in the scent of pine and snow as we step out. Barely do our feet touch the ground when nature reacts: an unkindness of ravens fly away from the tree nearest us, cawing in warning as they are joined by others they've roused. After this initial clamor, an eerie silence spreads in a growing circle from where we stand, making me think of the rings formed by a stone dropped in water. We don't have to wait long before one ring of silence overlaps with another, broken only by the growing sound of swift feet crunching in the snow.

They emerge from the trees, looking much younger and more innocent than I had expected, particularly the male of the couple. Like Edward and me, Benjamin and Tia could easily pass for high school students. I don't know whether it's their apparent youth or Alice's vision combined with Jasper's influence, but I immediately like them.

"Thank you for coming," Benjamin says, his expression shockingly open and friendly for one of our kind. "When Eleazar called to tell me you were heading back early, we ran toward the highway and hoped you'd be close enough to hear."

"Our pleasure," Edward says warmly, after brief introductions. "I am very glad to finally meet you in person. I am sorry for the loss to your coven. I wish … I wish I had been able to stay and convince Amun to leave."

"I doubt you could have convinced him, even with your talent," Benjamin replies. "If Amun had taken Eleazar's warning … but it was in his nature to disbelieve. While his loss is painful, I find our new home and lifestyle to be far more agreeable than we ever dreamed possible."

"So we wanted to thank you in person," Tia says, her musical voice a nice balance of rich and clear, like a viola or clarinet. "We know what you've done for us, and the danger involved."

"You're welcome, but the danger isn't over," Edward informs them. "Certain members of the Volturi guard are on their way, and Alice thinks they'll go to Denali as well. After you've hunted it might be well for you to stay in your new house until they've returned to Italy."

"I want to be of more use," Benjamin says. "While you're making your plans, don't count me out, okay? I can't stand hiding while others risk their lives. Not if I can help."

"I think you'll be very happy hiding in Alaska. We were," Alice says, her dark eyes sparkling. "We won't be staying at our place too much longer, but we got your contact information from Eleazar and he has ours for you. Call any time."

"Be careful," Tia calls as we get into the van.

I pause, because she sounds a bit worried for someone who just met us. Of course, the last time the Volturi paid a visit at her house, she lost the head of her coven to an unofficial act of brutal violence.

Perhaps she's right to be worried.

"We always are," Jasper says, looking sympathetic.

I watch them watching us intently as we pull away, and wonder what it's like to be hidden away, always safe from Aro's attention, never able to show who or what they are. I could ask Alice and Jasper what that feels like, for that matter, but it seems like too intimate a question for the moment, given what we're about to face, and how much Jasper wants to fight. I'm ready, myself, knowing who they'll send.

The thought of seeing Jane at the other end of this road fills me with a cold rage, and before I know it, my shield expands to cover all four of us in the van as Alice hums in appreciation.

"Bella?" Jasper asks uncertainly, undoubtedly getting a full dose of my emotions. "You okay back there?"

"She's good," Edward says, covering my hand with his. "She's just getting ready."

I bend my shield to my will, pulling it off of my loved ones one by one, and return to my private thoughts to prepare for what lies ahead. The mountains loom around us like great stone gods of a frozen wilderness where anything could happen.

**~oЖo~**

**A/N: For anyone sharp-eyed enough to notice, I clipped a bit off the end of this chapter a day after posting. Don't worry though, it will come back as the beginning of the next chapter. NelsonSmandela had suggested that the chapter should end where it does now and after thinking about it I agree that both chapters flow better that way.  
**

**The Aro in my head is totally impatient for me to get back to him. I miss the crap out of him, too. **

**Happy Holidays, everyone!**


	42. Knives Out

**Chapter 42 Knives Out**

**Thanks to the always amazing NelsonSmandela for beta-ing and fixing my newspaper copy, and to Detochkina for endless WC sessions and previewing. Love to my chat ladies, especially Algie, who, when I bitched about lacking a decent ending to this chapter, chat-chanted "lemon" over and over until I finally realized it was a damn fine idea. **

**Lesson learned: almost any problem can be fixed by having sex with Edward.**

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOPPEL!**

**Chapter music**

**Kissin plays Chopin's "Ballade No.1 Opus 23 in G minor"**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=Hs7GZbKx1f0**

**Renee Fleming sings "The Jewel Song" by Gounoud from the opera _Faust_**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=pWcPJsOqWrw**

**Radiohead- Knives Out**

**http:/wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=2Lpw3micro**

**NOTE: People who read the last chapter within a day of my last posting may experience a little déjà vu reading the beginning sections. You're not imagining things—I moved them from the end of last chapter to the beginning of this chapter so both would flow better** **(NelsonSmandela was so right). **

**~oЖo~**

The road looks like thick gray snake stretching in front of us, glistening and flecked with white until it tapers into a thin line and disappears over a hill in the distance. Snow falls from heavy clouds for as far as I can see at varying rates depending on where I look. It seems to fall in lazy drifts until it hits the cars, then spins in frantic swirls in their wake.

I get lost in thought, reading subtle shifts of wind in the patterns of the snow, thinking about how short the span of a human life can be when individual flakes with their intricate patterns hit our warm windshield and melt seconds later.

I feel a dull ache in my chest, and for some reason the snow makes me think of my mother's face, my father's awkward hugs. Like each snowflake that hits the glass and dissolves, they too, will disappear, leaving nothing but a memory.

"What are you thinking?" Edward asks me from the driver's seat. He sounds worried.

His eyebrows rise so high they almost meet in the center. I reach over and run my fingers over his cheek and jaw, reveling in the uneven stubble that had grown in over a hundred years ago when he contracted the fever that nearly killed him. It's a nearly undetectable reminder of his more vulnerable human life, and I love it. His forehead unwrinkles and he leans into the caress as I work the dial of the iPod with my other hand.

"Warm things are so temporary," I answer absently, choosing some Chopin for the van stereo. "Some cold things, too."

He looks at me in surprise.

"Every single time," he shakes his head, amused now. "How on earth did you get to that particular thought?"

"I'm just thinking about Benjamin's gift," I murmur, adjusting the volume and bass, "and how we seem to be racing right into trouble. It all seems a bit surreal."

"It's the lesser of two evils," Alice says from the backseat.

"What happens if we don't go?" I ask.

She gives me a wary look and breathes on the window, but there's no humidity in her lungs, so it fails to fog up.

"Damn," she says, looking crestfallen. "We can't play tic-tac-toe."

Jasper takes her hand and starts tracing patterns on the back of it with his fingertip, and the look she gives him makes me turn away to give them a little privacy.

_Tell me, please? _I ask Edward silently, throwing my shield over him. _What happens if we stop the van and avoid seeing the guard? _

For a moment he doesn't answer, and his expression darkens.

"They'd find Alice and Jasper's scents and start tracking them," he says. "They'd find our computers, which are full of information. Let's just leave it at that and say this way is better, okay?"

For over an hour the only sounds we hear are the sounds of the windshield wipers, the defroster, and the beautiful sadness of a long-dead composer. It's a long time before the silence gets punctuated by a sharp intake of breath from Alice.

"They're almost there? So soon?" Edward suddenly asks her."They must have changed their mode of transportation. How much time do we have?"

She's got that thousand-yard stare again, and doesn't answer right away. I start dialing the other car on speakerphone.

"They'll be at our house in sixty-eight minutes," Alice finally says, when she hears Carlisle's voice. "You'll have twenty minutes to prepare. Jasper and I need to take the van a mile or so before you get home and go east to keep them from smelling us."

"You have to stay within three miles," Edward reminds her. "I need to be able to hear you."

Alice scowls in concentration, frustrated in her search for answers.

"I can't control the wind, Edward," she says irritably. "Try to keep them outside the house if you can."

"We're nearly home," Carlisle says. "We'll get the house ready."

"We should air out everything and start a fire," Esme murmurs, "just in case they insist on coming in. We've got some scented candles from the previous owner, I think."

"It's too bad we can't burn the house down," Alice says, her expression relaxing minutely as Edward whips out _his_ cell and starts dialing.

"Right," she whispers, smiling. "_I_ can't control the wind, but Benjamin can."

It doesn't take long for Edward to get his answer.

"Wind direction is fairly simple," he says, with a satisfied gleam in his eye. "He can do something like that from a remote location, as long as he has the specific coordinates."

"Impressive," Carlisle says, sounding grave. "But will it have any negative repercussions to manipulate the weather in this manner? What's the risk of causing some kind of catastrophe elsewhere for our hour of safety?"

We're all quiet for a moment, until Jasper takes a deep breath.

"I guess we're about to find out," he says.

Forty-eight minutes later, Alice and Jasper drop us off and keep driving, leaving the two of us to race the rest of the way. Apparently I'm not hiding my anxiety well, because Edward gives me an appraising look.

"We should hunt," he says, sniffing the air.

"Now?" I ask incredulously. "They'll be here—"

"In twenty minutes," Edward finishes. "And we need to mask our scents. We've been sitting in a closed car with Alice and Jasper, Bella."

I frown, feeling the stubbornness setting in.

"You're stronger after you hunt," he wheedles. "And there will be three of them."

Trust Edward to figure out the one thing he can say to change my mind.

**~oЖo~**

The wind shifts as we run, a subtle but distinct change that tells me that Benjamin's talent is in effect. I can see the diagonal column of smoke like an arrow pointing to our house just past a relatively thick crop of evergreens, still decorated for Christmas. Esme has indeed been busy.

"They're already here," Edward confirms, taking my hand as we slow down to a walk.

I stiffen, the urge to snarl just barely containable. Edward stops and frames my face gently in his hands, kissing me so sweetly it makes my chest ache. My shield slips around him, and he shakes his head. Reluctantly I pull it off him, remembering the plan.

"Bella, I want you to promise," he says seriously, "promise me that you'll keep your shield off of me unless she attacks me."

"I can't let her hurt you again," I whisper through clenched teeth, looking down stubbornly. "Not even for a second. I just can't."

I don't let him tilt my chin at first. Then he dips slightly and his own achingly beautiful face fills my vision. He kisses me, gently at first, then seductively, until I have no choice but to respond. I wind my arms around his neck in a childish, futile attempt to keep him from danger.

"Later," he promises, only half understanding.

"It's Jane," I say. "We both know that she's going to attack you. Alice saw it."

"I know it's hard, but I have to be able to hear them," he reminds me, untangling my arms and holding my hands gently between his, as if I were still human. "I have to be able to hear Alice and as much of Jane as she lets slip. Swear that you'll only shield me if I say the word."

I nod with some difficulty and straighten my clothing. "How do I look?"

He gives me a look that would, in different circumstances, end up with one of us pinned to a tree and a lot of ripped clothing.

"Like a goddess," he murmurs, kissing me passionately once more. He smooths my hair behind my ear and touches his forehead to mine. "Try to look less like the avenging variety, will you? We have a plan. We have a backup plan in case that fails. It'll work if we stick to it."

As we approach, I begin to hear murmurs, the conversation in progress, before they come into view. The wind carries a heady mixture of scents our way, blending in with the normal green and fauna of the forest. There's the distinct sweetness I've come to associate with vampires, plus an odd hint of something floral.

"What smells like frangipani?" I ask, finally placing the floral scent.

"Jane," he whispers. "Even her natural scent is that of a poisonous plant."

We round the clearing, breaking through the trees at an advantageous angle. Felix and Emmett look like a matched set, their height and general size nearly identical. If I didn't know for a fact that the youthful Jane and Alec with him are infinitely more deadly, the sight of these two large vampires unsubtly squaring off would alarm me, but as a relatively young vampire myself, I could easily stop any fight between them.

Ever cautious of anyone stronger than he, Felix eyes me with a new—if temporary—respect. In return, I look at all three of them with new eyes, appreciating their cold beauty with wary curiosity. If I had felt overwhelmed by the perfection of vampires before the improvement in my eyesight ... well, perhaps it was a good thing I couldn't see them as I do now, perfect and deadly as they are. Jane's expression seems a bit vacant, probably to keep her mind as clear as possible to block Edward. The effect almost makes her seem as lifeless as a doll. It's amazingly creepy. Her brother's face is far more animated, and he greets us first.

"Bella, Edward, at last," Alec says, overly formal to the point of obsequiousness. "Aro sends his regards."

"Eloquently presented by his three best guards," Edward comments wryly. It almost seems like a reasonable response, but it isn't. This doesn't go completely unnoticed.

There's a flicker in Jane's eyes as she gazes at him impassively, the corner of her mouth twitches, and her nostrils flare delicately. It takes all of my willpower to refrain from shielding my whole family, because she never smiles unless she senses fear.

"Aro said you like to play human, Carlisle Cullen," she observes with a hint of derision, staring up at the smoke billowing from the chimney at an odd angle. "Don't tell me you keep a fire burning for warmth?"

Edward tilts his head in concentration, and without missing a beat Carlisle launches into an outrageous story.

"As I was just saying," he lies smoothly, "we had a problem with some nomads. They attacked us, and unfortunately we were forced to defend ourselves."

A flicker of life in her porcelain face. Curiosity, perhaps?

"Interesting," she responds coolly. "Who did the killing?"

"I did," Emmett, Rose and I say at the same time.

Jane narrows her eyes slightly at the contradiction, and I ache again to use my shield.

"I finished them both off," Emmett clarifies, eyeing Felix. "Not that Bella and Rose needed my help."

"What a fascinating story," Jane says unnervingly, her voice devoid of emotion. "We've come to let you know that Aro has decided that it's time."

She pauses a moment, and smiles. Her teeth look like a row of little white tombstones.

"Aren't you going to invite us in?"

**~oЖo~**

Jane gazes into the fire, the flames reflected in the curved mirror of her blank, black eyes.

Surprisingly, she doesn't speak, opting instead to stare blankly while her brother does the talking.

"I see you got the roses Aro sent," Alec says, standing a bit too close for my comfort. He sniffs the air delicately, and gives me a questioning look. "Did you enjoy your present as thoroughly as he intended?"

Aro must have spent a fortune on shipping. Vases filled with dozens of roses in nearly every color known to nature take up almost every available surface, their perfume inadequately masking the potent scent of human blood. It reminds me of what I've done, and I duck my head in shame for a moment before realizing that I'm giving too much away. I look up again to find Jane and Alec exchange a knowing look.

Felix, on the other hand, doesn't look surprised or even interested. He's still sizing up Emmett. I seriously doubt he's ever seen anyone as big as he is.

"Yes, I got the flowers a while ago," I say truthfully, failing to keep my voice neutral. "Please send him my ... regards in return."

Jane makes a scoffing noise, a tiny sound corresponding directly to the Edward's fists clenching into tight balls at his side. Either she's losing her ability to keep her thoughts from him, or he's gotten better at reading her twisted little mind.

"I can see that you did, but there's no reason to be ashamed, Isabella," Alec leans in conspiratorially, misinterpreting my discomfort. "No matter what these humanitarians tell you, you're a vampire now. Human blood is what you're _supposed_ to drink. It is they who are unnatural, not you."

"I disagree," I say quietly. "It's cannibalism."

He shakes his head, his boyish face so angelic it almost breaks my heart.

"Cannibalism would imply that humans are our equals," he counters evenly, "whereas they are quite obviously inferior in every way."

"You were human once," I argue. "You had human parents, a human life. Any one of them could be like us, with a little venom in their system."

"Perhaps humans have _potential_ to be like us, if we deign to give them that gift," he counters calmly, as if teaching a small child an obvious lesson. "But there is no comparing, really. Have you looked at yourself since the change, Bella? _Really_ looked?"

"What's your point, Alec?" I ask impatiently.

"You are so much more than human now—you're a goddess," he smiles. "Why fight nature? Why not embrace your new, infinitely better existence? Why live in imitation of them, starving yourself with inferior blood, when you could feast and enjoy the full extent of your powers? You have no idea what kind of privileges await you in Volterra, if you make the right choices."

Alec might be speaking, but the words are pure Aro. I have no response for this, but Jane inadvertently does me a favor and interrupts her brother's attempts at diplomacy.

"Enough pleasantries," Jane says acidly. "Alec, Felix. You know where to go. I'll find you."

Alec flinches slightly, as if he's just been slapped. "Jane, we're not leaving you alone here."

"Why not?" she demands, clearly offended. "You think _they _can hurt me?"

"What if she's stronger than you?" Felix protests. "Bella's shield stopped you when she was human. What if it's even better now? We can't leave you defenseless."

Her eyes flare, and her exquisite features transform for one disturbing millisecond into demonic fury before clearing into the calm, expressionless doll's face again.

"Fine," she says archly, her eyes suddenly alight with anticipation. "Let's put your mind at rest, shall we?"

Sometimes even when you know something is going to happen it can be shocking. It happens so fast, too fast for me to prevent it, and Edward cries out in real agony, his knees hitting the floor with a sickening thud, and the simple wood floor cracks beneath the impact. Involuntarily making an anguished noise, I throw my shield over him, and feel it stretch, prickling like electricity under her attack.

I can feel it working, surrounding him, but Edward keeps screaming nonetheless, his cries unchanged, and the fear grips me that her evil talent may be too strong for my shield.

_Knock on the floor if my shield is working for you, _I think in a panic. His acting is far too realistic, but his fist hits the floor in answer, and I do my part, holding my hands to my head as if trying, and failing to shield him. In a whisper, I rush over to him, holding his hand while he tones the dramatics down to about half-strength.

"Pathetic," Jane says quietly, but her eyes sparkle with delight as she watches what she believes is her handiwork. "Even Renata can do better than this."

_Keep it up, Bad Seed, _I think at her, as Edward writhes a bit more, his body trembling with laughter. _I'm glad you're enjoying this, Edward. Your parents aren't. _

The trembling stops abruptly, but he keeps up the rest of the act, his screams utterly convincing.

"You're hurting him!" Esme pleads, and Carlisle gathers her close, as if trying to shield her from Jane's wrath and pleasure with his body.

I feel horrible for them, because they're not in on our plan, for good reason. Even with everything we've done to subvert the Volturi's authority, they could possibly stay out of trouble, as their transgressions are technically legal. If our plan fails and Aro finds out the truth, there's no going back; some of us will be executed without question.

For those of us who met in the forest, we've officially and deliberately plotted against them, and as of this moment, we're carrying out that plot.

It's a series of planned defenses and slight deceptions, designed to protect more than destroy, unless it's absolutely necessary. How far it goes, how much damage we do, is entirely up to Jane. If she delivers her message and leaves us alone as she's been instructed to do, she will leave in her normal state, if you can really call Jane "normal". I think that ship sailed long before she turned vampire.

Alice has seen the decision, hard and fixed as a diamond in Jane's mind: she has no intention of simply following Aro's orders. She's here to destroy, independent of the Volturi, and even her small guard.

"You've made your point, Jane," Carlisle says, obviously distressed. "Is that really necessary?"

Unbelievably, the prickling stops, and I reluctantly withdraw my shield as soon as it does. Edward stills, seemingly embarrassed at his display. He didn't need to be. It was pretty convincing.

"I told you she was overrated," Jane smirks at her brother, and I feel the faint prickle against my shield again as her poisoned darts hit me uselessly. Her smile turns sour. "Now go do your duty, and leave the rest to me."

Her tone leaves no room for argument, and they leave, Alec flashing one last look of misgiving at his sister before the front door closes behind him.

"Where are they going?" Carlisle asks, frowning.

"We have another matter to attend to in this region," she says with a placid smile, as if nothing were amiss. "I'll tell you all about it once I've delivered Aro's official message. It's nothing we can't handle separately, and I have no wish to be so far from all culture for so long."

"By all means," Edward says, dusting himself off, "shall we get this little farce over with so that you can get back to civilization?"

She responds by opening her cloak to reveal a small black velvet bag, out of which she takes a rolled-up newspaper and tosses it on the coffee table. It unfurls to reveal a grainy photo of a broken plane, with a smaller tour picture of us, and a headline reading "Seven Killed in Tragic Plane Crash" and the subhead "American Musicians Alive But Remain in Critical Condition."

"It's happened already?" I ask, shocked as I scan the article quickly. The article holds some incredibly uncomfortable surprises, worst of which is a tearful quote from Renee. "Wait, who told my parents? That wasn't part of the deal."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says authoritatively. "You've been given extraordinary latitude with regard to your human ties. Did you think you'd really get to tell them yourself? Or maybe, spare them the _pain_ altogether?"

Something in the way she says the word _pain_ sounds particularly suspicious.

"What kind of sick game are you playing?" Edward says, barely keeping his temper in check. "Our contract specifically forbids Volturi interference with Bella's human family."

"Oh relax," Jane says, amused. "Some reporter told the mother; we haven't been anywhere near Florida. And the chief of police never actually saw us, so our contract has not been broken. He did nearly as well in his test as Bella. All I could give him was a mild headache, evidently."

I hear a terrible, strangled noise a split second after I realize what she's saying and feel hands on me, and notice through a haze of rage that Edward and Emmett are holding me back, even though Edward himself seems to be nearly as angry as I am.

"She's trying to provoke you," he whispers in my ear. "Charlie's fine. I know he's fine. You know it, too."

I breathe deeply, trying to focus. Even forewarned, it's nearly impossible to keep myself in check, but I know it's necessary if I want my shield to work. I close my eyes and focus on the shield, feeling its boundaries. Just to feel useful I throw it over Rose and Emmett, who look terrified, until Edward shakes his head slightly. He wants to be able to hear everyone.

"Yes, Isabella, control yourself," Jane smiles delightedly. "I have so much more to tell you. We can't have you getting all excited over every little detail. Aro was quite interested in your father. You know, in case you don't work out, like the last opera singer he changed."

"Alfonso?" I ask, momentarily distracted.

I still haven't heard the whole story about the tenor who Aro changed a couple hundred years ago, only to execute him a short time after his change. Everyone has been maddeningly and almost uniformly silent on the subject until now. It's very tempting to listen to this story, even if the storyteller is Jane.

"Indeed," she says. "What an annoying, perverse creature he was. Always singing in the palace, you couldn't get away from it. Fortunately, he had a little problem respecting Aro's boundaries, so we didn't have to suffer very long."

Her eyes sparkle with sadistic pleasure at some distant memory, and suddenly I'm not sure I want to hear it anymore of just how her suffering ended. Something tells me she was able to return the suffering tenfold.

"Just say what you have to say, Jane," Carlisle says brusquely. "I don't know why this is even necessary. We know that Edward and Bella are to relocate to the hospital in Brazil. We've been involved every step of the way."

"The human elements, perhaps," Jane says, giving Carlisle a look of intense dislike, "but Aro's been quite busy dealing with his little operatic fantasies. He's quite immersed in his investment, as you can see."

She takes out two CDs and tosses them unceremoniously on top of the newspaper. One of which I recognize as a more polished version of our tour recording, the artwork a striking version of Alice's poster design. We're on stage, taking a bow, our features somewhat obscured. The second CD is new, and has a some heavily photo-shopped image of me looking a bit too much like Maria Callas with Edward facing me in full profile. It's a bold statement, playing up an obvious comparison of me to opera's biggest icon, and exploiting Edward's inhuman beauty as well. From the cover it's obvious that this contains the recording we made for Aro just a few weeks ago. It's called _La Bella Cigna, _the slightly embarrassing nickname that followed me in Italian stops on my tour.

"I was surprised that these sold at all before the accident, let alone the spike in sales since," Jane says flatly, drawing yet another object from beneath her small black velvet bag. "Humans can be so morbid when it comes to these things."

Jane presses a button and sets a small portable sound system on our rustic coffee table with a look of considerable distaste. It must be an incredibly expensive piece of electronics, because the sound of my own voice singing "The Jewel Song" from _Faust_ fills the house, an eerie ghostly sound echoing in the memory of making this very recording only weeks ago in this very room.

I've never much liked hearing my own voice in recordings, even though I seem to have gotten used to it as a human. Every flaw feels magnified and almost intolerable, but my voice teachers had always insisted that it was the best way to learn, a necessary evil in order to observe and improve. Since the change, I don't like listening for entirely opposite reasons. It's a bit like looking in the mirror; there's always a moment of confusion in which I don't recognize myself. Then I get ashamed after feeling a thrill of pleasure, and worried that I'm going to turn into a narcissist, so I'm even more uncomfortable than before.

The effect of vampirism on my voice feels a bit like cheating, like I haven't earned any of it. On one hand, it's hard to resist getting everything I've ever wanted. On the other, everything Aro's been putting us through is, in a way, a huge price to pay for musical enhancement, and I still don't know if I can afford the cost. This particular song choice is no accident. I think it's supposed to be a reminder that I chose this, that I have gained immensely from my own Faustian bargain and also must pay. I wish Jasper were here to help me untangle these emotions, but I do my best to tamp them down like a smoldering fire.

Dr. George would kill me if he knew how little I've listened to my recordings since becoming a vampire, and I focus on the music, trying to put my misgivings aside and really analyze the sound as if it didn't come out of me. The sound is smooth, fluid, and resonant, my voice an intoxicating balance of fine-tuned control and expression. It bears a distinct resemblance to my human voice, and I doubt many humans could detect any fundamental change beyond noticeable improvement, except possibly a loss of warmth in my tone. I wonder if I can somehow get it back and make a mental note to experiment with this in practice.

One selection on the recording follows another as she blandly outines Aro's plan for another tour, and several operatic engagements once I've "recovered" from this tragic accident. The sky dims and our faces glow with firelight and unease. It's starting to feel almost as if she's stalling for some reason.

Then, something changes. It's subtle, but it feels like that moment between jumping up and coming back down—one weightless moment when everything hangs in the air before shifting and reversing. If it wasn't for Edward tensing beside me, I would think I'm imagining things. Jane's expression changes minutely, her dead eyes coming alive with something subtle and expectant, and with it she shifts from bored messenger to coiled snake, glistening with venomous threat. Then her face goes carefully blank again, and she begins to speak.

"I loathe opera," Jane says almost conversationally. "Truly, I can't stand it. Aro has tried everything to get me to appreciate it, but really, what's to appreciate? Just because it's difficult to do, doesn't make it worth doing or listening to. All those fat people who can't act, screaming at each other for three or four hours. I don't know why you people bother."

She looks at me for a reaction, but I've heard worse things about opera from Rose on a daily basis.

"Jane, I'm surprised," Edward says. "Whatever will Aro say when he hears of this?"

"Aro knows how I feel," she replies. "He also knows I have his best interests at heart. He will forgive me for anything that happens here."

Her words have an understandably chilling effect on the room as everyone correctly interprets her thinly veiled threat. Their facial expressions don't change, but Carlisle puts his arm around Esme's waist, and Rose grabs Emmett's hand. I want to tell them that it's going to be okay. I want to reassure them. Edward tenses, and I can only imagine the cacophony in his mind right now.

Jane eyes each one of us, soaking up the tension in the room as if it were applause.

"Aro will understand when I explain it to him," she continues, warming to her subject. "He knows he has a few minor blind spots. He trusts me to see clearly when his emotions cloud his judgment. In time, he will understand that his vision has indeed been impaired when it comes to this ridiculous … _family_."

She spits the last word, and Carlisle flinches. The air fairly crackles now with a volatile momentum. She's nearing some point of no return.

"You know you're not supposed to do this," Edward says warningly. "That's why you sent the others away. They wouldn't help you go against Aro's wishes, Jane. And you might be wrong. He will not be as forgiving as you imagine if you disrupt his plans this time."

"Let me tell you something even _you_ don't know about Aro's plans," she says to Edward before turning to Carlisle. "Did you know, Carlisle, that he dreams of having you and your whole little family at court? He wants your giant here to serve him in the same capacity as Felix. He is eager to see _the beautiful Rosalie_—I can only assume he intends to fuck her—and thinks your wife would make a nice, boring companion for nice, boring old Sulpicia."

She looks around as if disappointed that nobody's attacking her yet. She looks determined. Rose looks almost as furious, but Edward shakes his head at her. Jane misses the exchange, as focused as she is on Carlisle. I ache to protect them, but it's too soon.

"Aro trusts me to see clearly," Jane insists. "And I see you, Carlisle Cullen. You may act as if you're full of compassion, but like all religious zealots, you're a liar and a hypocrite. And you know it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Carlisle's voice is calm, but he looks like he's bracing himself.

For a second she looks like she truly hates him. For a second she looks completely deranged.

"You're a liar," she repeats firmly. "I know very well what burning vampires smell like."

"We never said—"

"Do not insult me again, Carlisle Cullen," she says coldly. "I know what you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Edward asks with deep suspicion.

"Since we're speaking of burning, Carlisle," she says, ignoring Edward, "you and I have an interesting connection from our human lives. It directly involves fire. Can you guess what it is, good doctor Cullen? Or at the time you were more of a witch-hunter, weren't you? Finding kindling for your father's fire and brimstone in the form of human flesh?"

"That was a long time ago," Carlisle frowns. "I was young and foolish. I've changed."

"I doubt that. You're still a fool," she replies. "And you're still a zealot. Why is it that I'm the only one who sees that Aro will never get the kind of friendship he wants from you? Deep down inside, you're still the same kind of cold, arrogant bastard who burned me at the stake."

"What?" Carlisle looks startled for a moment, then horrified. "You were a vampire long before I was born."

"You may not have been there for our trial," she says without emotion, "but that's just a technicality. If we had been human at the same time, it could just as easily have been you, with your pitchfork and Bible, setting the blaze. Aro saved us. Not in time to save our human lives, but just in time to make us immortal. Just in time to give us _justice_."

"You were actually burned?" Carlisle asks, horrified. "At your age? Who would burn a child?"

His eyes take on an unmistakable look of pity, and Jane's brittle veneer of calm shatters.

"I am not a child," she says bitterly. "Appearances be damned. Why do you think they changed us _so young_? Aro had promised to change us once we were old enough, but your kind got to us first. The Volturi almost didn't make it in time, did you know that? Do you know what it's like to feel your flesh melt from your bones, Carlisle? Turning into a vampire was a _relief _ in comparison."

"My God, what did they do to you? I'm so sorry—" he begins, but she cuts him off with a brief flash of pain, making him drop to his knees in agony before I can cover him. It doesn't last more than a couple of seconds, though, like a sharp slap.

"Save your false sentiments." she seethes, advancing on him. "The last thing I want is pity from a sorry excuse of a vampire who bows and scrapes to his natural food source. You're dangerous, and you won't stop until you make everyone suffer as much as you do. You'd have us all groveling before humans, denying our natural superiority over them. You'd have us serve _them_ with our gifts."

"I can see that you have a problem with me, Jane," Carlisle says calmly. "Why don't you take it out on me, and leave my family out of it?"

"Hell no," Emmett says, voicing the visible, visceral reaction of us all.

"You see? Your little family is precisely the problem," she counters. "I always knew you were a fool, but if Aro was happy to let you wander off in the wilderness with your ridiculous hair shirt and your honey and locusts, that was fine with me. But you weren't content to suffer in obscurity, were you? You have to go and beget a savior, don't you?"

"A savior?" Carlisle asks blankly, looking confused. "What are you talking about?"

They're so close, so focused on each other, that neither one is in a position to see a flash of blonde hair streak past in the window and Edward signal to me.

"Edward," Jane explains impatiently. "The mind-reader who so many in Volterra see as the second coming, with his surly charisma and pale copy of Aro's own talent. Aro sees what you're doing, but he's distracted by the pathetic dream of having his friend back."

When she gets too close to him, I throw my shield over everyone except Edward. It rankles to leave him unprotected, but he needs to hear her.

"You're getting sloppy, Jane," Edward says softly. "I can hear your thoughts now."

"How are you enjoying those thoughts, Edward?" she hisses, still staring at Carlisle. "You're all such hypocrites. You act noble, but how is it noble to conspire against the Volturi with the Romanians? Don't bother denying it—Demetri told me everything."

"Just because the Romanians have visited Denali—" Carlisle begins, stopping when Jane raises an eyebrow.

"Who _hasn't_ visited Denali lately?" Jane asks incredulously. "I bet if we looked hard enough, and believe me, we will, we'll find Jasper Whitlock, and maybe even his wife, too? I wouldn't be surprised if she had some kind of talent, the way your luck has gone. I hope you're not too attached to dear old Stefan and Vladimir, because Alec and Felix are probably there by now."

"We are far from attached to the Romanian coven," Carlisle denies. "The Denali coven will probably be grateful if you remove them."

"I find that unlikely." Jane narrows her eyes, but doesn't strike.

"The Romanians are hardly welcome guests," Edward insists. "Eleazar and Carmen came to us as a pretext to get away from them for a while."

Jane laughs prettily.

"You have no evidence to the contrary!" he objects, obviously responding to some unspoken thought of hers.

"Honestly, Edward, there's already enough evidence against your two freakish covens to justify total annihilation. It's only your collection of fine talents that cloud Aro's vision and make him hesitate, when it should make him move all that much faster. Fortunately, I see clearly where he does not and will do what is necessary to save the Volturi. Too bad for you your shield is such a dud."

Involuntarily, I flex my shield, which feels strong and sure. I wish I could strangle her with it and wipe that predatory smirk off her face.

"Jane, think about it. Aro won't forgive you for this," Edward says sharply. "Besides, Alec was right; you're outnumbered here."

The diversion finally works. She rounds on him, a triumphant gleam in her eye.

"Is that a threat?" she asks gleefully. "What are you going to do?"

"Hurt my father again, and I'll kill you myself."

"Edward, don't," Carlisle warns. "Not for me. You're just giving her an excuse."

"Take away the mind-reading and you're just another ordinary idiot." she says, her voice unnaturally calm and soft. "And for once, Carlisle was right about something. On your knees, Edward Cullen."

He crumples to the floor once more, but this time the pain barely touches him before my shield covers him. I flex it, feel it hold strong against the onslaught as Edward holds his position, curled in a ball. My shield is strong; it will hold against her. I can feel it covering him, covering all of them.

"Aren't you just useless, Isabella? Some shield you are," she says, her eyes still on Edward. She can't resist staring at pain. But something is off. Her gaze turns confused, then disbelieving as Edward begins to laugh. "What—"

There's a palpable shift in the room as he stands. I feel a slight echo of anger, raw fury that isn't mine: a sure sign that Jasper's somewhere nearby.

"You were half right," Edward informs Jane. "I don't know about the hypocritical part, but we certainly do lie when we have to. "

"Lying is for the weak," she snarls at him, really trying now. "Isabella, I am going to break your shield, and when I do..."

"Don't count on it," I say quietly. "How does it feel to be—what was the word you used? Oh yes: '_useless._'"

"Kind of takes away your authority, doesn't it?" Edward asks. "Perhaps you'd be better off using other methods of persuasion."

Jane turns, her cape swirling in an arc around her, snarling as my shield crackles under a relentless attack on my family.

"If Alec doesn't hear from me soon," she warns, "they'll destroy the entire Denali coven."

"Edward?" Carlisle asks in alarm.

"She's lying," he responds flatly. "Alec and Felix have orders to find the Romanian coven and execute Stephan and Vladimir, after an interrogation about their purpose in visiting Eleazar. They won't deviate from that order, and Eleazar won't interfere."

I've never felt my shield more distinctly than now, and I try to draw it closer against her, thinking perhaps to rebound some of her attack as I had once done with Kate's. I think Jane begins to feel something, because she turns to glare at me with a white-hot hatred that nearly takes my breath away, and for a moment I feel my shield falter slightly.

I look to see what's happening, and it's Emmett, trying to sneak up behind her. Unfortunately, only Edward knows about my shield's limitations, and there's no way to tell him without telling her at the same time.

"Don't," I say to Emmett, still staring at her, but I'm too late.

There's no way to tell him what I learned in Alaska- that whenever two vampires come into contact, my shield gets dangerously unstable, and tries to either include them both or slip off entirely. Alice warned me not to let Jane in my shield at any cost, because then she would both be able to attack me and be protected from the gifts of others, which would spell certain disaster for us all.

His arms reach around her, and he picks her up off the floor, only to let out a deep, guttural scream that would haunt my dreams if I still had any. He drops her, and she scrambles to her feet, realization dawning on her childish face.

"I found the chink in your armor," she laughs as Carlisle evades her grasping hands. "I see how it works. You can't protect them if I manage to physically touch them, is that it? I bet I can catch someone."

I curse loudly and run at her, not even caring at this point about the stupid plan. She's fast—faster than I am. She sidesteps, sending me crashing into a wall, where I get tangled in electrical wiring and plaster. She raises her hand as if to strike me, but Edward is there in a blur, sending her flying in the second before she attacks him again.

My shield warps around me, close in as my attention falters. I hear Esme scream as I fumble in the wall, furious with myself for letting my shield down. The screaming stops when I focus and reform, making sure to cover each person I love, one at a time.

I won't make that mistake again.

It takes me a moment to get my hand unstuck, a moment Jane takes full advantage of by gliding swiftly toward the front door. Rosalie tries to stop her with a blind tackle, but is easily deflected, screaming in pain when Jane penetrates the shield by touch again.

"None of you can touch me and stay safe," she says excitedly, her hand on the door handle. "Very interesting. I'd love to stay and explore that a little more, but Alec and Felix need my guidance in Alaska."

"You're crazy if you think we'll let you leave," Edward tells her. "Not after you've threatened our friends."

"Just try and stop me," she says, still facing us as the room fills with cold air and light from the opening door. Her hair glows, unusually gold before I realize that someone stands behind her. "I bet Alec and Felix can wipe out half the Denali coven before you catch me. Besides, Demetri keeps very close tabs on all of us, and the Volturi will come down on you like hell itself if anything untoward happens."

Jane's body jerks oddly, and her breath catches before she emits a long, high, bloodcurdling scream. As she falls to the floor, Kate appears behind her, almost like some magic trick. She stoops, following Jane to the ground, and then I notice that one of her hands is wrapped around Jane's neck, her low, pleasant voice barely audible beneath the unmistakable sounds of pure agony.

"I can touch you," Kate says, her face twisted with rage. "I've been waiting for this for a very long time, Jane. I too, have the gift of pain, and dear Alec isn't here to hold me down, is he?"

"You," Jane's eyes flash to Kate, whose mouth forms a grim line as they seem to struggle with each other. "You're nobody."

At first it's hard to tell what's happening until my shield registers a wild, though surprisingly feeble hit from Jane. I try to cover Kate, and my shield strains, covering most of her for seconds at a time, but not much longer than that. Whenever I'm able to hold it over her for any length of time, Jane screams in agony, so it must be helping. I hope.

"Keep trying," Edward whispers.

_Is it working? _I ask silently, and he nods, still watching in fascination.

"Stay back," Edward tells Carlisle when he looks like he might move to intervene. "The only thing protecting us from Jane is Bella's shield, which is stretched thin right now."

"What about Kate?" Esme asks, taking Carlisle's hand.

"Bella's on it," Edward explains, "but it's taking all of her focus to help Kate."

_I'm starting to worry, Edward. Jane seems to be getting stronger. _

Jane struggles to stand, to pull away, but Kate holds fast. Neither woman is very tall, but Kate is a bit taller and has a clear physical advantage.

"Hold steady," he says, but I'm struggling, and he knows it.

Jane's prickling darts keep pelting my shield in every direction, her shots too erratic to risk lowering it for even a moment. Their struggle makes it incredibly difficult for me, but only Kate's head has to be covered for it to work, so I lock onto it and focus for all I'm worth.

Time stretches, and at some point, I feel something else hit my shield, something subtle. It feels like a heady mixture of rage and confidence. _Jasper._ He's intensifying the emotion, but it seems to work on Jane more than Kate, as my shield not only protects her, but inhibits Jasper's help.

"Damn," I say under my breath.

Jane laughs, and manages to stand, though she can't seem to break Kate's grip on her neck.

"You're getting weaker," she says through clenched teeth, her hands over Kate's. "I told Aro he was too easy on your coven. The ancients are too fond of whores for their own good. Once I'm done with you, I'll enjoy killing your weaker sisters. Just like I killed your mother. She was a whore, too."

Kate's expression goes eerily calm, and I begin to see cracks in Jane's neck as she leans in to whisper in her ear, almost like a lover.

"Unlike your gift, I bring more than just an _illusion _of pain," Kate breathes. "I'm the real thing. By the way, her _name_ was Sasha."

She continues speaking in a torrent of words, some ancient language that sounds a little like Russian and, judging from the tone, something truly nasty as she tightens her grip around her throat. Jane's limbs twitch and jerk from Kate's electric touch, and her eyes widen in shock and pain as the tide turns in Kate's favor.

"Kate..." Carlisle says weakly, and Jane snarls at him, sending sharp darts into my shield. "This has to stop. Edward?"

"She's still trying to attack us," Edward says. "If we let her, she won't stop, but maybe Kate can subdue her."

In my peripheral vision I note Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett standing, poised to spring into action in case the situation changes. If it were anyone other than Jane, the scene would be horrifying. As it is, it just feels like a grim, necessary sort of frontier justice. I don't dare look at anyone but Kate and Jane, as it's taking all my concentration to force my shield over Kate, but not Jane. I'm so careful to keep Jane uncovered that at one point I lose control altogether and my shield snaps back to cover only me.

Fortunately, Jane doesn't hurt anyone in that moment, and I quickly move it back into place.

"Do that again," Edward says, frowning. "Something's different."

_She'll attack again,_ I think, shaking my head. It's too much to ask.

"Just me then," he insists. "Bella, please. I have to see."

I grimace and, with an effort, retract the boundaries of my shield from around him. He stares in fascination at Jane, whose noises have settled into a low, demonic growling. We all exchange worried glances as Alice and Jasper fill the doorway.

"Kate," Edward says, but if she hears him, I can't tell.

"She'll see you," Rose whispers to Alice, motioning for her to hide.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Alice says, shaking her head. "Look at her."

Jane's eyes have glazed over completely, and I no longer feel anything against my shield but subtle waves of wary satisfaction. I'm not taking it down for anything, though.

"God," Edward whispers, his expression unreadable. "Her mind..."

"Stop, Kate," Carlisle says urgently. "That's enough—not for revenge."

She looks up, her face still contorted with an uncontrolled fury. Her hands squeeze Jane's neck, and the cracks spread, etching her china-doll face with a fine webbing of black lines.

"She tortured my mother," Kate whispers brokenly. "She and Felix murdered my mother while Alec made us blind and deaf. She doesn't deserve to exist."

Jane's eyes roll back in her head, her arms dangling limply.

"That may be true," Carlisle says, looking warily at Kate's savage expression, "I know you love your mother, but this isn't you. Don't let hate consume you."

He holds out his hand to her, not daring to come any closer without her consent. She stares at his hand, and for a moment seems to waver. After a long minute, she takes her hands off of Jane's neck, and stands up, backing away. Jasper puts his arm around her shoulders, and Carlisle takes her hand. Jane lies in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"She's damaged beyond repair," Edward observes. "Her thoughts are...well, they're like an animal's. She seems to be incapable of language or anything remotely like coherent thought."

"But it's _Jane_," Rosalie objects. "Shouldn't we kill her anyway? I mean, put her out of her misery so she doesn't harm anyone?"

"Rose! No," Carlisle says firmly. "At this point it isn't right. It would be murder."

"It would be self-defense, and we'd be doing the world a favor," she argues. "I don't care how damaged she is, we're talking about Jane!"

"We do not answer cruelty with cruelty," Carlisle says. "Whatever she's done in the past, she's helpless now."

"Rosalie has a point," Jasper says. "Jane in any form is bad news. Can we risk the chance of Aro finding her?"

"Alice?" Edward asks, but she just shakes her head.

"It's like she's disappeared from my vision," she says. "Not only for me, but for Demetri too. Her mind is fundamentally broken to the point that he can't see her anymore."

"Perhaps I should examine her," Carlisle says, and bends over to touch the fine fissures in her cheeks. "Maybe I can he—_ahhh_!"

He cries out in pain as she reacts to his touch, and there's a blur of black cape and pale blonde hair as Jane disappears out the open door into the icy wilderness.

**~oЖo~**

"I don't know what came over me," Kate says, looking haunted. "I actually saw red for a moment. I thought that was just an expression."

I look out the window for the hundredth time, wondering how far Edward and Jasper will track her before they come back, worried that I should have followed. According to Edward, Jane's brief attack on Carlisle had been purely an instinctive reaction to his touch, and not any product of coherent thought. They had sworn that they would track and follow her at a safe distance, but I'm not sure that any distance is safe enough from her. Suddenly the island in Brazil seems like a great idea.

"I don't blame you," Rose says. "I was actually jealous. I'd like to fuck up that evil little bitch too."

"Rosalie," Carlisle says in a tired, harassed voice.

"What?" She challenges stubbornly. "Are you forgetting that she maliciously brutalized every one of us—except Bella, of course—especially Edward, and she tortured him on multiple occasions! If anything, it didn't go far enough. She should be burning in our fireplace right now, not wandering out on the frozen tundra."

"No, it's better this way," Alice says, frowning. "Things are very unsettled right now, but if we had actually killed her and her ashes were found by the Volturi, almost every one of us would be found and executed within days."

"That's what made me so angry," Kate says. "I could see the murder in her eyes. I saw that once before, right before Alec cut off all my senses."

"What a horrible position we've all been put in," Esme says, smoothing out Kate's hair.

"They're back," I say, dropping the curtain.

They come in, bringing an arctic wind and the scent of fresh pine with them.

"I should have gone with you," I whisper against his shoulder. "I should have insisted."

"We're fine," he says indulgently. "Did you get through to Eleazar?"

"Carlisle just got off the phone with him a few minutes ago," I tell him. "They executed Stephan and Kebi."

"Just like that?" he asks, looking unsurprised. "No trial?"

"No trial," Carlisle confirms. "But Vladimir got away. Fortunately they didn't find the other house."

"How did they manage that?" Jasper asks.

"Sheer good luck," Alice says. "They're tracking Vladimir, who was nice enough to head in the opposite direction, toward Anchorage."

"And Jane?" Carlisle asks.

"We followed her for a while, but she's pretty fast," Jasper says. "At her rate of speed she's probably near the Northwest Territories by now. At least she seems to be going away from humans."

"What about her mental and emotional state?" Carlisle presses. "Any changes?"

They shake their heads.

"She hasn't made a single decision," Alice adds.

"What a mess," he continues, running one hand through his hair. "How the hell do we explain this to the Volturi?"

"We don't," Alice says calmly. "We act like she came and delivered the message and left. They'll blame Vladimir for her disappearance."

"Do you think I can get back?" Kate asks her. "I just want to find Garrett and warn the others."

"Keep your phone turned on," she says, nodding. "And be very deliberate in your route. I'll watch until you get home safely."

I watch as Kate's car gets smaller and the sound of her engine fades.

"You could have told me." Carlisle stares at Edward with a combination of hurt and questions in his eyes.

I'm not the only one who looks away from their private conversation.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle," Edward finally says. "We are winning, though."

"And that makes everything okay?" he asks furiously.

"We did what we had to do," Jasper insists. "All I'm saying is that if we hadn't acted as we did, we would have lost people today."

"Is that true?" Carlisle looks questioningly at Alice, who nods.

"She came intending to kill at least one of us," she confirms. "She hoped for Edward, but without the help of the other guard, she wasn't going to be picky."

"I suppose we didn't have much of a choice," he says, then sighs in frustration. "But I don't like it. I shudder to think of the long-term consequences of this plan of yours. It's not like Aro is going to sit by passively while he loses access to his guard. What were you thinking?"

"We deviated from the plan," Jasper says, looking troubled. "Jane pushed Kate too far- she pushed all of us too far, really. I've never felt such negative vibes coming out of one person. "

Carlisle looks sternly at Edward and Alice. "I know you two have a unique perspective. I don't object to using your gifts to protect yourselves and others, but for God's sake, if you know for a fact that I would object to your actions..."

He trails off, looking troubled.

"The ends do not justify the means," he says seriously. "We have to remember who we are in all this. If we allow the ill intentions of others to guide our actions, we'll find ourselves just as lost as Jane."

Edward looks incredulous. "You're seriously worried about Jane now? You've never harbored any illusions about her character, Carlisle."

"No, of course not!" he replies. "I just wish they'd leave us in peace."

We all exchange glances.

"Very well," he says. "Do you know when Alec and Felix will be back here looking for her?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Alice says.

"All the same, I'd prefer it if everyone stayed close tonight."

**~oЖo~**

The house seems almost alive with various creaks and noises of four vampire couples. I'm trying not to listen, but it gets increasingly difficult to ignore the exact, ah, nature of the sounds, particularly the muffled moans. I try not to match name to voice, or just pretend that there are vigorous massages going on, but it's no use. One look at Edward, who lies on our bed staring at the ceiling with a pained expression confirms my suspicions.

"Are they _all..._?" I ask, slightly scandalized.

He glances at me with pained amusement.

"Of course," he says ruefully, watching as I brush my hair. "Being in danger seems to have that effect on people, remember?"

A dim recollection surfaces, of a forest, danger and lust so pure even this human remembering makes my stomach tighten from it. His eyes darken and his nostrils flare slightly.

"Would you mind helping me not hear so much of it?"

"Of course," I echo, climbing into bed with him. I stare into his eyes and slip my shield over both of us, slowly. I like to watch his expression change, like he's slipping into a hot, blissful bath as relative silence covers him. "It really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"You can't imagine," he says. "And please, don't try to. I swear Rose enjoys torturing me with vivid images of Emmett's hairy ass. That seems to be her go-to image when she wants me out of her head."

I snort and bury my face in his chest, feeling the scant springy hair under my cheek. I inhale deeply, letting his unique, warm scent both calm and excite me. His fingertips play on my skin, and I detect a musical pattern.

"Chopin?" I ask playfully.

He scowls and shakes his head. He plays faster now, and it's difficult to concentrate on the pattern when his touch makes me shiver. One thick eyebrow raises in challenge. _He knows. _One corner of his beautiful mouth raises. _Oh, he knows._

_Debussy? _I think, and he rolls his eyes as his fingers dance over my back underneath the thin fabric of my shirt.

I half-close my eyes, fixing my gaze on his mouth, and recall the kiss in the woods from before our harrowing encounter with Jane. I recall every second of it, and my body responds as if it were still happening. I throw in a few of my favorite memories of us together—clear memories of us as vampires as well as a few hazy ones from my fragile past life.

"Later," he whispers, his voice overlapping the echo of my memory of him saying that very word. "Well, it's later now."

He tilts his head and his mouth covers mine, and I can't help the slight satisfaction that he's so easily distracted.

"Am not," he whispers. "I just don't feel like waiting for you to guess correctly."

"It's one of yours," I say with certainty, and he flashes teeth before kissing me in confirmation.

He flips us over, pinning me underneath him as he attacks my throat, skimming his sharp teeth lightly over the sensitive skin there. The bed springs groan under the movement, and for a moment I worry about the others hearing. The house seems to sigh with various subtle, yet complex shiftings, and the cool air hitting my skin combined with the rough sound of ripping fabric takes me away from that worry abruptly.

"I liked that shirt," I observe.

"Shhh, I need to be close to you," he says in a hushed voice, drawing a feather blanket over both of us. "I don't want to think. I don't want to think at all."

He kisses me vigorously, so much so that our lips begin to grow warm, but I can't seem to ease the ache from needing him. It's almost physically painful to know that if Jane had gotten her way, he'd be reduced to ashes right now. I grip him closer, as if to convince myself physically that we're both still here.

"I know," he murmurs against my mouth, his hands tightening in my hair as his full weight presses into me and we sink deeply into the bed. "I'm here, love. Shhh..."

His skin feels so blissfully smooth sliding over mine that I wish he could cover every inch of me. I wrap my legs around his hips as he slides in, my arms around his neck and back. It's too gentle; _I need more._

His response is immediate, overlapping the thought as he begins to drive into me with a frantic urgency. I bite his shoulder near the curve of his neck, and he snarls viciously. The sound reminds me of one he made earlier in the day, and an image of him throwing Jane across the room when she tried to attack me flickers in my consciousness. He grabs one of my knees and hitches it over his shoulder, going deeper and filling me so completely I cry out loud, unable to care who hears us.

He bends and manages to cover my mouth with his, consuming the sounds of my sharp pleasure as every part of me holds him in a vise-like grip.

Any human would black out at this intensity. His expression glows fierce and determined, until I arch my back and another wave takes me by surprise. I breathe his name and my eyes grow heavy-lidded as I watch him strain against me, his voice harsh.

"Bella," he pants huskily, his expression pained. I shiver with rolling aftershocks as he stills, each spasm echoed in his body with a little answering thrust. He looks at me incredulously.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he asks, and I break down into hysterical giggles, making our bodies vibrate.

"Maybe just a little," I say, removing my leg from his shoulder and winding it around his waist, hooking my ankles together with a little squeeze. "You only have yourself to blame."

His eyes grow serious, and he moves away just enough to turn me on my side, spooning my back as he did every night while I was human. I look over my shoulder at him and notice that he seems anxious.

"You want to pretend to sleep again?" I ask, and feel his nod against my head.

I reach for the bedside lamp, turning it off with a click. Edward's chest rises and falls against my back, and I know he's breathing in my scent as I breathe in his, matching his slow rhythm.

Through a break in the curtains and beyond the glass of the window, moonlight filters through swiftly falling snow, shining from somewhere I can't see.

**~oЖo~**

**Edited for continuity and clarity-Thanks to those who alerted me to the error! gah. **

**Btw, I'm now pretty sure that there will be 50 chapters total.  
**


	43. Trébuchet

**Chapter 43 Trébuchet**

**Sorry Sorry Sorry.**

**Ever wrestled an octopus? Yeah, that was this chapter was for me, with some crazy RL stuff thrown in just to make everything peachy perfect. I'll try harder. **

**Also, someone requested a recap. If you'd like one, let me know! **

**Huge massive thanks to NelsonSmandela & her stars and garters for the beta and Detochkina for previewing and putting up with my flailing about Carlisle and his chapblocking ways. Oh, and there's something in here for Spargelkun, too. You know what it is, you little scamp.**

**Chapter Music**

**The Impossible Duet- Handel-Halvorsen Passacaglia for cello and violin**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=NseBdxfHk5k**

**Kronos Quartet plays Shostakovich String Quartet no. 8, "Allegro Molto"**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=bUOUnsHmkkg**

**Tabu, by Margarita Lecuona**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=BQrcjFTapt8**

**Disclaimer: SM owns these here characters. **

**~o****Ж****o~**

The sound comes first, as it always seems to when you're dreading something.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch._

There may be only two of them, but their approaching footsteps on our gravel driveway freak me out as if there was an approaching army.

I _hate _lying.

I'm not good at it. Aro always got the better hand when I tried to conceal things from him, if I recall correctly. If I wrote it down correctly in my journals, that is.

Granted, Aro's guard doesn't have his particular skills of discernment, but still. Just the mention of these guys makes the average vampire flee in terror, according to the rest of the family. Those vampires don't even have half the reason we do to fear these guard members in particular, especially after what we did to Jane.

Rose says she did it to herself, and she has a point, but there's something gruesome about the way her mind broke, "like an old television losing the signal", as Edward put it. He said it was hard to tell with her, because the contents of her mind were always on the crazy side- that her natural talent as a human was influenced by her final moments as she burned at the stake for witchcraft. Before, her mind was all about discipline and barely contained rage, like a bomb in a bank vault. Now, he says it's loud static with flashes of images and confused thoughts. The rage and pain are still there underneath it all, a very serious danger to anyone unlucky enough to cross her path, but now with no control at all.

Still, she didn't exactly give us a lot of choice in the matter. If we had killed and burned her, Alec and Felix would be able to tell through scent, according to Alice, and that would have brought swift and heavy Volturi "justice" to us right away. Keeping her contained might have been preferable if it had been possible, but her power wasn't broken, just her mind. Not even Alice saw that my shield would fail to protect others when her mental power combined with touch, and since my newborn strength is pretty much gone, I failed to restrain her on my own.

Jane may be little, but she's fast and _mean_. Crazy helps too, apparently.

The image of Jane, breaking under the combined forces of her own torturous gift rebounding off of my shield, Kate's touch, and quite possibly Jasper's emotional influence as well, it haunts me. Edward says I have no reason to feel guilty, and when I replay it in my mind, I can't think that it would be better to leave my family undefended.

As Eleazar says, sometimes there are no good choices, and that's a small consolation. Perhaps we have no reason to feel guilty, exactly, but I can't seem to bring myself to feel cavalier about the whole thing either, which is the exact vibe I'm getting from everyone else, except Carlisle, who doesn't have it in him.

"I can't do this," I whisper, my hands frozen.

Edward takes the packing tape out of my hand in a flash of motion, and thrusts a box into my arms. I look up at him, feeling every one of our seven-inch difference in height.

"I didn't mean it like _that_," I smile, exasperated.

"I know. You don't have to do anything. Just leave it up to the rest of us," he grins, his voice low. "We've been covering our tracks for years."

"With Volturi guard?" I whisper, unable to mask a slight tremble to my voice.

"Piece of cake," Emmett says, swooping close and flashing dimple. "Watch and learn, little girl."

Two shadows—one much larger than the other—block the light coming in from the open door. I don't turn to face them, but Edward looks up, a picture of complete innocence.

"Where's Jane?" Alec asks without preamble.

To my surprise, he doesn't seem hostile or accusing, just annoyed. I blow a steady stream of air out between pursed lips in relief.

"She said she was going to join you," Edward says calmly, taping the box shut. "Don't you all carry cell phones?"

"Cell phones are human inventions," Felix deadpans, looking around with distaste.

"They work," Emmett points out.

"Jane has the only mobile telephone among us," Alec sighs. "We didn't exactly plan to split up."

Felix's nostrils flare, and he looks around the room with suspicion.

"Something's off," he says, almost to himself, his back stiffening as he walks near Emmett.

Alec's cool gaze sweeps over the room, taking in details with apparent calm.

"You guys just showed up and told us to pack up and move," Emmett replies. "So we're moving."

The two tall vampires seem to be trying to stretch beyond their respective full heights, hilariously while attempting an air of nonchalance. Felix seems to be preoccupied with Emmett, but Alec ... he worries me.

Before my change he was more or less a nonentity as far as I was concerned, and I'm fairly certain he regarded me in the same way. Apparently he's a bit of a vampire bigot, because now that I've changed, suddenly I exist to him. No matter what he said, I don't think he has any sexual interest in me, and Edward's reaction to him seems to reinforce that impression. There is, however, an echo of Aro in the way he looks around the room in constant, shrewd assessment and evaluation.

I avert my eyes before he gets around to me, but I can feel his gaze on me, and have to suppress a shudder. I feel like a weak link.

"So call her," Edward says, reaching into his jeans pocket. "Here, use mine."

It's a bold move, and I rummage around in a box behind me to escape Felix's curiosity.

Fortunately, Rose clatters down the stairs, yelling for Emmett. She's dressed in tiny shorts and a tight red tank top, guaranteed to distract any heterosexual male in existence. Hell, it would probably distract gay men and straight women, too, judging from my own suspense about whether or not her boobs are going to stay contained or come out and say hello.

"Emmett, I need your help dismantling the, erm, you know, the _swing_," she says in a stage whisper, her chest heaving like she really needs the air.

I wonder how many times Rosalie's considerable charms have been used as weapons of hypnosis before. And they say that vampires can't be enthralled. They haven't seen my new sister's cleavage. I glance down at my own relatively modest bosom and frown.

"She's not answering?" Edward asks, but Alec just stands there with Edward's phone in his hand and a dazed expression. "You were going to call Jane?"

Ah, my Edward. He's the only one in the room _not _staring at red-clad bosoms, and I could kiss him for it, so I do.

"What?" he asks, genuinely surprised. I shake my head and smile, reminding myself to reward the hell out of him later.

Emmett dashes for the door, tosses his wife over his shoulder, which gives everyone in the room a very interesting alternate view, and bounds up the stairs, Rosalie in all her blonde and bouncing glory in tow.

Felix gives a low whistle, and Alec snaps out of his daze, dialing Edward's phone like someone entirely unused to modern technology. He listens for a moment with his eyes on the stairs, and just for a second I panic that she's either going to pick up or that maybe Jane dropped it in this very room, but neither one of those things happens.

"She never has it turned on," he hisses in exasperation. "Straight to voicemail. I'm surprised there's any reception out here at all."

"Call Demetri," Edward suggests, with a hard edge to his voice. "He'll track her and you can go wherever she is."

I could groan at the recklessness of this move, but clearly Edward is doing all this for a good reason, so I hold my tongue. I glance over at him, and notice the subtly sly look on his face, and a gleam of triumph as Alec takes his suggestion. I'm not sure what Edward is getting out of this- perhaps he wants to appear innocent and helpful? Maybe he wants to know if Demetri can track Jane now, or maybe he just wants the phone numbers for his own purposes? I know we've invested in some technology that can track our own phones, but I'm not sure it will work with that of other people. My train of thought gets interrupted by Alec, who apparently has more luck getting Demetri to pick up than his sister.

Probably because Demetri isn't crazy.

"Demetri, I need a favor," Alec says, relief evident in his voice. "No, we split up, and Jane doesn't have her phone on again..."

He listens for a while, and concern clouds his expression. "What do you mean, weak signal? What the hell do you mean by a flicker? Either you can track her or not. ... No, there's no reason for her to go under water. I guess it's possible, but Jane doesn't really like getting wet if she can avoid it … so annoying. … This is Edward Cullen's phone, why? … Yes, she is here..."

Alec's gaze fastens on me, and he narrows his eyes, tilting his head as if surveying a work of art. I decide to focus on packing and try to ignore his obvious appraisal.

"...Far more attractive, of course, but you know I prefer our kind. … Yes, I'd say so … not so vulnerable any longer, but mysterious and remote. … The pallor suits her; she looks luminous. … But you know, Aro was right—there's a blonde here who puts Chelsea to shame … No, you have to see her, every bit as lovely as your Heidi..."

I glance up at Edward, appalled at this, and he rolls his eyes.

_Gross, _I mouth, guessing he doesn't want me to shield him while Felix and Alec are here. He gives me a look indicating that this conversation is mild compared to what he has to deal with on a regular basis. On a positive note, I doubt Alec would be speaking this way if he were about to attack us.

"...One of the Romanians got away; see if you can track Vladimir," Alec changes subjects, almost as if reading my mind.

Edward doesn't bat an eyelash or pause in writing on the box in front of him. Felix notices this and glances toward the stairs again, eyes filled with equal parts impatience and hope.

Alec finishes his conversation and hands the phone back to Edward without thanking him.

"Demetri is useless," he says in disgust to Felix. "Ever since he got banished it's as though he's not even trying. At least he got a fix on Vladimir."

"After we take care of him, I want to go back to Volterra," Felix complains. "Jane always does something like this. I'm not going to wander all over Siberia looking for her when she's probably halfway home by now, just to make us look foolish."

As they stalk out I exhale a little raggedly, thanking Jane for being the kind of heinous bitch who would make such an assumption plausible, thanking Alec for not having the foresight to permanently commandeer Edward's phone, and thanking Rosalie's parents for passing on the kind of genes that make distracting ruthless killers so effortless. I'm not going to thank Felix, because he obviously needs a geography lesson.

"I told you it would be okay," Edward murmurs into my hair as the rest of our family filters into the living room, Alice and Jasper last to come in from outside. I notice Rose has changed into a more modest ensemble.

"I love your rack," I tell her with fervent and honest admiration.

She grins, and arches her brow at Edward, as if to say, _See? _

"Enough," Esme says, looking determined. "We've got a lot to do before we leave."

Alice's eyes glaze over, and Edward's head snaps to attention, his eyes glittering with anticipation. She stares at him accusingly, and I know she's giving him a mindful.

He smiles innocently, and I'm torn between truly seeing him as someone's brother for the first time and dealing with my own suspicious thoughts.

_What are you up to?_ I ask him silently after throwing my shield over him.

"Esme's right," he says evasively, carefully studying his own neat handwriting on a packing box. "There is much to do."

**~o****Ж****o~**

"What's taking them so long?" I ask Rosalie, feeling antsy and bored as I watch her doing yet another tune-up on the van, even though it's not entirely necessary "I should have gone to Denali too. Or at least into Whitehorse with the others."

I think she's just trying to avoid me until the others get back, because I don't usually hang out with her when she's working on auto maintenance.

Maybe I'm being paranoid. Maybe she just likes the fresh air, which is probably why she's doing this in front of the house instead of the garage. Maybe I just can't take a hint.

"I wish you had," she says, not looking up from the van's engine. "You know nothing about cars, and you're not exactly living up to your reputation for silence."

Definitely not paranoid, then.

At least her tone isn't as hostile as her words, which means that she's on her way to forgiving me for attacking a human on her watch, but not quite all the way there.

"You could teach me," I say tentatively, earning a scathing glance. "Or, I could read the manual."

I take the manual and go back into the house, shivering not from the cold in the air but in my sister's demeanor. Sometimes it's hard to believe that she's got a better track record abstaining from human blood than I do. It's _not_ hard to believe she committed murder for revenge, though.

I go up to our bedroom and fold myself into my favorite reading chair, manual abandoned in favor of a novel I've already read five million times. I really want to call my parents and tell them not to worry, but I can't because I'm supposedly in an intensive care unit somewhere, unable to communicate. I want to be with Edward, because he won't tell me what Alice doesn't want him to do. At least he's with Carlisle, who seems to be just as anxious about Edward's mood as I am, and who certainly will try to dissuade him from doing anything reckless.

Tires crunch on the gravel road to our house, but I don't recognize the engine. I peer out of the window through blinds and sheer curtains, and almost fall out of my chair. My stomach tightens into a knot and I feel the urge to simultaneously attack the newcomer and call Edward.

No, wait. That's a horrible idea. _Definitely do not call Edward_. Anyone but him. Alice, certainly, but I'm absolutely certain she already knows.

I can hear the phone buzzing on our bed, but I'm frozen in place. The possibilities are just too horrible, too increasingly inevitable. I can't stop staring at the oncoming train that is Demetri.

The phrase _This is not good _repeats in my mind like a skipping record, and my mouth drops open when Rose takes the pen securing her french twist and shakes out her golden curls. She may be wearing jeans and a sweater, but it might as well be a bikini from the way he looks at her.

Demetri stops in his tracks, clearly enjoying the show. Thanks to her partial concealment behind the van's raised hood, he doesn't seem to notice her taking out a cell phone and pressing a few buttons. From my vantage point, I can't see her expression, but her body language is ... well, it's a clear signal, and it's friendly.

_Oh Rosalie, what are you doing? You can't do this act with this one. _

I silently curse the day we decided to soundproof our room for the sake of modesty, because I'd give anything to hear what they're saying. This thought snaps me out of my freeze, and I dive for the phone as it hums again.

"Alice," I hiss in a whisper. "What the fuck should I do? Why is he here? Why is Rosalie _flirting _with him?"

"I'm going to beat Edward," I hear Emmett growl in the background.

"Edward isn't here, he went with Carlisle," I say, but then it all clicks. Rosalie isn't interested in Demetri at all, but she does love getting even, and she really didn't like how Demetri acted around me. "Oh no, no, no... Alice, did Edward know Demetri was coming?"

Jasper says something too, but it's drowned out by a stream of mild cursing from Alice.

"Dammit!" she says, and I hear the sound of a revving engine on the other end of the line. "How did they get around me seeing this? I thought there was time before we had to deal with this."

"Why would he plan something like this?" I ask, utterly bewildered.

"He didn't plan it. I would have seen that," Alice assures me. "I think it's more or less the opportunity presenting itself, and Rose's misplaced sense of loyalty and revenge coming out. Demetri's ready for anything, including a fight."

I groan, only too able to imagine Edward's response to whatever text Rose just sent him. This isn't just one train derailing- it's two trains speeding toward each other at high speed.

"She told him, didn't she?" I ask. "She let Edward know he's here. And now Edward is on the way. How close is he?"

"We'll be there as soon as we can," she says in lieu of an answer. "Do _not _let Demetri see you."

"I wasn't planning on it," I say reflexively, but then my curiosity gets the better of me. "Wait, why not? What happens?"

"Demetri's a really good fighter," she replies cryptically. "And Edward's anger is cold right now, which makes them about even. If he arrives and sees Demetri trying something on you, he's not going to be so rational in his attack."

"So a fight is inevitable?" I ask weakly.

"It always has been, Bella," she says. "Hold tight. We'll be there when we can."

The faint background noise goes dead, and I sit for a moment, watching the two in conversation until curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to relocate to a better spot for listening. I move stealthily from our bedroom on to the second floor landing, moving into the shadows next to a curtained window, and hear their voices clearly.

"I thought you were all about Bella," Rose challenges, her voice a low, throaty alto.

_Yeah, I thought so too, _I think reflexively, surprising myself. I wouldn't have thought that Demetri had the power to bruise my ego.

"Oh I am, don't get me wrong," he says, a playful smile in his tone. "But how on earth could I ignore you, Rosalie? They told me you are simply exquisite."

"Obviously they were exaggerating," she says, cocking her head in a way that completely nullifies any pretense of modesty. She might as well have said _Go on..._

Demetri laughs, his white teeth gleaming sharply.

"Obviously, you don't believe a word you just said," he observes correctly. "You're a woman who knows her value. You know exactly how beautiful you are. I bet you've never seen a woman who came close to you."

"Heidi, maybe," she admits. "I have to admit, she's lovely."

"You know her?" Demetri asks, surprised.

"I saw a picture of her once," she confirms. "Edward thought I'd like to see the competition. And Tanya is quite beautiful, if you happen to like redheads," she adds dubiously, as if it were hard for her to believe anyone could prefer redheads.

"Interesting, isn't it?" he says, trailing one finger along the side of the van as he slowly approaches her. "The most beautiful women I know seem to be 'vegetarians'. You, Heidi, Tanya... and of course, Bella."

"You haven't seen her since the change," Rosalie points out, looking suspicious. "You're not basing that on her human looks, are you?"

She sounds more curious than derisive, and makes a little show of checking the oil. I've never really considered the erotic implications of handling a dipstick before.

"I've known and changed many women," he explains, pausing to enjoy the show. "I can tell how they will change. I can picture you as human too- It's a pity I didn't meet you then, because I love to experience a beautiful woman in both forms. I love the warmth and taste of a human woman, but I adore the perfection of the vampire, too. In fact, when I see an exceptionally beautiful human woman, as I'm certain you were, I feel a kind of artistic obligation to preserve and enhance her natural appeal by bringing her over, before her body can be ruined by children and time..."

_Idiot._ Nothing could enrage Rose more than the precise words he chose. I peek out the window to see, yes, her spine stiff with anger even as she abandons the auto work to twirl a lock of thick golden hair.

"Wow, that's so... philanthropic of you," she says, with no hint of sarcasm. "Anyway, Bella never mentioned how attractive you are. Now why do you think that is?"

_Nasty, _I automatically think, before stopping to consider.

Now that she mentions it, with my new vampire sight I can objectively say that Demetri is quite handsome. It's possible that I might have seen him more so if on our first meeting I wasn't absolutely sure he was going to murder me, quite possibly with a horrifying rape thrown in for just for fun.

No physical attributes, not even Edward's, could make that kind of behavior attractive.

"She didn't?" Demetri looks momentarily taken aback, but he rallies quickly. "She probably said nothing. I suppose it's true that Bella never says what's on her mind. It's part of her allure."

"Oh, she described you, all right," Rose replies cheerfully. "She said you were, and I quote, _a creepy, lying, sadistic stalker who seems to enjoy scaring the shit out of me on a regular basis, _unquote."

Nothing wrong with her memory. Actually, that's a pretty good impression of me, come to think of it.

"She really said that?" he asks, incomprehensibly puzzled and confused, as if I hadn't been completely forthright with my opinion. "No qualifying statement of how tempted she was to give in to me?"

"Not a single mitigating element, I'm afraid," she says, clearly enjoying herself. "Unless you count the times you made her vomit, but I don't think that nausea was the kind of qualifier you were looking for."

For a second he seems hurt, and maybe confused. Then he gives her a teasing smile, probably his massive ego talking him into a better take on things.

"You're lying," he says, moving closer to her. "I know how women respond to me."

"Uh huh," Rosalie scoffs, "and I'm sure none of the other female vamps in Volterra preferred Edward over you either. I know how women respond to _him_."

It's a direct hit.

Demetri's expression darkens, his lips thinning into a hard line for just a flash before the flirtatious look comes back, but in that instant, his eyes hold enough hate for me to feel a surge of fear for Rosalie's safety. She's used to being the scariest thing in the room, and it's about to blow up in her face.

This is the Demetri I know: the ugly, twisted version, designer clothes be damned. But this time, I'm not the fragile Bella whose blood used to run cold at the sight of him. I feel wood turn to pulp in my fingers before I realize I've moved to the window, in full view should anyone look up. The realization hits me, and I move back just as his head whips in my general direction.

"Lovely Rosalie," he says, his tone dangerously smooth, "who's here besides the two of us?"

"Why, am I boring you already?" she pouts, somehow unaware of the change in atmosphere.

"Of course not, my beauty. I just thought I heard a noise in the house, and I really don't like surprises."

"Oh, I'm sure someone's around," she says airily. "I don't keep track."

"Nobody I've met before. Not Carlisle, or Edward. Perhaps Bella?" he asks, sounding intrigued, and dangerous. "I would very much like to see her again."

"Maybe it's my mate, Emmett," she counters, finally sounding slightly nervous. "You've never met him either. You know, Felix is almost as big as he is. Would you like to see him, too?"

"Felix is large, but easily outsmarted," he says coolly. "Size isn't everything, you know."

"Spoken like a small man," she replies, all nervousness gone. Now she's angry, and he's standing too close.

_Don't play with him, _I want to scream at her.

"It's not your husband," he taunts. "I don't think any mate worthy of you would stand by and let this happen."

He closes the gap between them, and kisses her. Hard.

It happens so fast, she barely has time to respond, but immediately starts to struggle and protest. He's got her arm twisted behind her back, and it's more than I can just stand by and watch, knowing what I know about her last human moments. Knowing what I know about him.

I'm out the door before I can really think about it, pure fury and instinct taking over. He lets her go and laughs, grabbing my balled fists as I barrel into him.

"I knew it," he says, his movements smooth and masterful as he twists me around so that my arms are crossed in front of my chest, his arms around me and locked on my wrists. "No need to be jealous, little Bella. There's enough of me for both you and Rose too. I'm quite skilled in pleasing two women at once."

Rosalie looks shaken, her eyes huge.

"Ass." I manage to stomp on his foot. "You need to leave. _Now_."

I try to put as much force into my words and the stomp as I can, but he just seems amused. He sniffs, taking in my altered scent.

"You still smell divine," he says, his lips skimming the shell of my ear. "But I'm not here for that alone. I'm looking for someone, and you know I don't stop once I get started."

"I'm well aware that you can't figure out when to stop," I hiss, trying to get free from his unwanted embrace. My newborn strength must have waned considerably in the past few weeks, or else it's the angle of my arms that's the problem. Belatedly, I realize that this isn't the first time Demetri has dealt with a newborn, and I barely qualify anymore. "Whoever it is isn't here, so just go. You're not supposed to be anywhere near me, remember?"

"See, I think it's my good fortune that you're not with your keepers," he argues. "I can hardly be blamed for stumbling on you when you're supposed to be elsewhere. So many things I want all in one place."

Rose crouches and growls, looking for an angle of attack.

"So fierce," he says to her admiringly. "I bet you're a hellcat in the sack. Would you like to wrestle, fair Rosalie?"

Incredibly, she nods, and he releases his grip on my wrists. I wrench myself out of his arms, one bare instant before everything turns into a blur. Demetri staggers and falls with the force of an oncoming Edward. Their collision makes a horrible noise, and for a second I fear the worst.

They both pause a moment on the ground, the tiny cracks in their marble skin vanishing as they speak.

"Forget about me?" Edward asks, his voice unnaturally even.

"I forget nothing," Demetri responds, just as calm. "Do you really think there's any element of this I haven't planned?"

He bares his teeth in a menacing smile, obviously sending Edward some specific thought.

"Pathetic," Edward responds. "You have a cheap and tawdry imagination. But then, I always thought so."

"You're a child," Demetri says, his eyes alight with anticipation, his mouth curved in a cruel smile. "You will lose. Some things are as inevitable as the sunrise, and this is one of them. Here's another: I will do worse things today than kill you."

Demetri's imagination may be cheap, but he obviously knows how to adapt, because whatever he thinks next brings another wave of violence as Edward launches himself at him again.

I cover my ears automatically with the sound of their collision. They twist and roll, well matched in size and strength. Only an idiot would try to get in the middle of this. Demetri obviously knows what he's doing, but Edward has speed and forewarning, and moves at the last possible instant before Demetri's hand strikes the ground with enough force to send a wave of gravel, ice and dirt flying in nearly every direction.

It sounds like thunder and hail, debris striking everything around. Rose growls in outrage at the damage to the van's paint job, and I wonder at her sanity if that's her biggest worry right now.

Between Demetri's obvious fighting skill and Edward's ability to read every thought before it translates into action, they miss nearly every strike and blow. It almost looks like a well-choreographed scene from a martial arts movie: beautiful and athletic.

Rose grabs me and pulls me back from the fray. I glare down at her hands on me.

"Shouldn't we do something?" I ask.

"Let them fight," she says stonily. "Edward needs this. Besides, anyone trying to stop _that_ would get pulverized."

At a loss, I obey, my attention drawn once again to the fight in progress. Every second of this seems both too fast and stretched out in slow motion, until the tide turns in Edward's favor.

As good a fighter as Demetri obviously is, Edward does have the one glaring advantage of knowing every move he can think of making. Demetri's response to this seems to be to just go faster, but he's not quite fast enough.

"I was worried that Bella's scent would change too much, but she still smells absofuckingly delicious," he continues, in an obvious attempt to get Edward to do something stupid. "Though you must miss the warmth. Not to mention your so-called sister. With those tits and that mouth? She tastes like," and here he makes a gesture both slightly obscene and thoroughly Italian, "Tell me, Edward: does anyone actually believe you're not fucking her too?"

If he wants to piss off Edward past reason, but I think he hit the wrong Cullen with that remark, because I hear Rosalie gasp.

"That's it," she hisses, thoroughly pissed off.

In my peripheral vision, she moves quickly, taking old newspapers from under the van and dumping them into a large steel drum. She runs into the house as Demetri breaks away, with Edward chasing with demonic speed. They don't get far before the ground gets another small crater, from whose hand or foot I don't know. Just when I'm thinking that it might be wise to follow her, she comes out with an armful of firewood and a can of gasoline.

"Are you crazy?" I hiss at her, then gape as she pours the gas into the drum. Seconds later, she lights a match and throws it in. "What are you doing?"

"Just in case we need it. I'm prepared," she says, watching the yellow flames grow tall. The fire illuminates her face and hair so that it almost looks like she's on fire too. "Isn't that the first rule of girl scouts?"

"Girl scout," I murmur, too overwhelmed with conflicting emotions and impulses to argue with her. "You look like a Valkyrie."

"Mmm, I'll take that as a compliment," she says, her eyes flashing toward the road. "He better hurry up. I think the moderation brigade approaches."

I strain to listen for what she hears, but just then Demetri and Edward's fight comes much closer, and much louder, diverting my attention back to the fight.

It sounds like twisting metal and glass, and for a second I can't tell what's happening until Demetri's shout of pained rage pierces the air. The two men break apart, Edward holding an extra, writhing arm like some grotesque, unwieldy weapon.

For a second, they both seem surprised, Demetri looking both surprised and offended.

"I'm going to kill you, boy. But first I'm going to make you watch-" he starts, but somehow the rest gets lost in the wind as Edward vaults toward him, his face twisting with rage, and starts beating him.

_With his own arm. _

"Holy shit," I mutter, truly stunned. "He must have been thinking something particularly vile."

"I've never seen Edward this pissed off before," Rose says wonderingly. "Impressive."

"I have," I counter. "Right after Carlisle found me bleeding on that cliff."

"Maybe he was thinking about that, and made him watch it?" Rose speculates, stoking the fire with a long metal object I've never seen before.

"Um, can we talk about that fire, Rosalie?" I ask uneasily, and then relief washes over me as two familiar cars round the curve on our road at high speed.

Within moments we're surrounded by our family, save Alice and Jasper, whose near presence I can feel in waves of projected anger against my shield. Now that I think about it, I felt the waves a bit before the cars came into view, which might have had something to do with the fight going to the next level of rage.

"You okay?" Emmett asks Rose quietly, putting his arms around her.

"I will be."

Demetri shouts something in a language I've never studied, but you don't have to really speak it to know that whatever it is has more impact than any punch or filthy thought, from the way Edward stops and stares at him. Carlisle and Rose seem to understand it, because she gasps and he uses an incredibly filthy word I never thought I'd hear coming from his lips.

"What did he say?" I ask, to no immediate answer. "Rose?"

She looks stricken.

"He said if anything happens to him," she says, not meeting my eyes, "Felix and Alec have been authorized to execute everyone in Denali. Then they'll come here."

Furious, Edward turns and stalks to the house, Demetri's severed arm still twisting in his grasp.

"You know I mean it," Demetri calls. "You can read it in my mind, you can feel it."

All the emotion drains out of Edward's handsome face and he hurls the arm directly into the flames.

"Feel this," he says bitterly, and stalks up the front steps.

"Edward," Carlisle calls, shooting a pleading look toward a stunned Esme, who has somehow retrieved the singed and smoking arm from the fire. He nods at her, and follows his son.

"I should have guessed," Emmett shakes his head. "The Volturi rig every game they play."

I feel the urge to take the damned arm from Esme and throw it right back into the fire where it belongs.

"You were losing that fight," I feel compelled to point out.

He seems pleased that I'm addressing him directly, and smiles.

"All's fair. Don't be bitter because I'm not so easily disposed of," he informs me. "Unless you're willing to say goodbye to your friends in Alaska. Now, most lovely Esme, may I have my arm back?"

I really don't want to see his face, so I follow Carlisle up the steps, sparing a glance back as the reattachment process begins. It looks painful. Inside, I'm not surprised to find Edward at the window. He takes one look at me, and in the space of time it takes to think of it, he's there, pressing me in his arms so tightly it almost hurts.

"I shouldn't have left you out there with him," he murmurs into my hair. "I'm sorry. That was inexcusable, except for the fact that it took everything I had not to kill him just now."

"Edward," Carlisle says, his voice heavy with concern and carrying the weight of silent words. "Son."

"You don't know what he was thinking, Carlisle."

"I've known Demetri for hundreds of years," Carlisle reminds him. "He's very good at what he does. Besides, I'm not going to lecture you; I just want to know if you can handle a negotiation right now."

"I can handle it," Edward says. "I have to. Let's just get this farce over with."

"We're going to negotiate with him?" I ask incredulously, keeping my voice low. "How? If he's willing to stoop that low, what's to stop him from demanding... everything he wants?"

"He's not acting on his own," Edward sighs in frustration. "So theoretically, he's supposed to follow certain protocols. But she's got a point, Carlisle."

"We're not out of moves yet, son."

"Bella, I hate to ask," Edward says, looking tortured, "but I have to read his mind for this, and if he keeps looking at you-" I hold a finger to his lips.

"Don't worry," I say, and lean in to plant a soft kiss on the hard line of his mouth. "I'd rather not be in the same room with that man. If you're giving me a good reason to get out of it, I'll take it. Just, be careful, okay?"

He nods toward the back of the house in silent indication, and I take off as quietly as I can for the forest. I barely make it to the treeline before catching Alice's sweet scent, and follow it through the fresh green pine.

I find them, still as statues in the mottled half-light of the angled sun through branches, both staring toward the house in fierce concentration.

"You okay?" Jasper asks me in a quiet voice.

"You tell me," I say, looking at Alice. She looks scared, and uncertain. I've never seen that in her eyes before, and it terrifies me. "What happened? Did Rose and Edward change everything?"

"Holes," she whispers. "I feel like there are holes in my vision. I didn't see this coming."

"Oh," I say, at a loss. I take her hand, and she grips it tightly.

"Hey now," Jasper says soothingly, enveloping her slight shoulders with one long arm. "We will get through this, together. All you have to do right now is watch out for that bastard's departure. No holes in that, right?"

Her shoulders square under his calming touch, and the fear in her eyes sharpens into fierce purpose.

"Right," she nods, her free hand finding his as he pours confidence into her. "Bastard leaving. One thing at a time."

We sit and wait, silent as death, moving less than the setting sun.

**~oЖo~**

By the time he's really, truly gone and we feel safe to return, the post-mortem fight is already in progress, and it seems to be mostly between Carlisle and Rosalie, with Emmett and Esme standing by like grim seconds in a duel. Edward, no longer enraged but obviously not happy, just stands staring out the window, brooding silently.

Perversely, I notice that it's a good look for him, even if I hate to see him suffer. He lets me put my arm around his waist, and leans into my touch slightly.

"What possessed you, Rosalie?" Carlisle asks, as angry as I've ever heard him. "You didn't think our situation was precarious enough?"

"Don't blame me." Rose lifts one eyebrow and points at Alice. "_She _said the fight was inevitable. I just wanted it to be on our turf. Did you think it would go down better in Volterra? Or maybe somewhere where lots of humans can see and give them an excuse to execute your boy there along with any innocent witnesses?"

It's not a bad point, now that she brought it up. The same scene going down in Volterra would have doubtless ended with Edward in ashes and me in chains.

"Actually, Rose, I was hoping that Edward would make a different choice."

Edward gets even more tense and looks down, but doesn't speak.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Carlisle!" Rose explodes with rage, standing up. "Things aren't the way they used to be! You know that I have a huge amount of respect for you, and that I'm usually down with your program, but you can't keep acting like we're not dealing with the _Volturi_ here."

"Rose," Carlisle begins, but stops himself, apparently thinking better of it.

"They won't stop," she says. "Aro wants Edward and Bella. Hell, he wants _all _of us, to some extent, like trophies. He'll _never_ stop. If we want to come out of this with any autonomy, hell, come out of it at all, we have to be realistic about that."

"She's right," Emmett says, utterly serious for once. "They keep coming at us, Carlisle. And how are we going to hide Alice and Jasper forever? At least three of the guard know their scents now, four if you count Jane."

"We knew something like this would happen," Edward finally says, his voice deceptively quiet. "We've been expecting them to push back, Carlisle. We need to regroup if we want to survive."

"Enough,"Carlisle acquiesces, holding up his hands. "I agree with you, for the most part, but it's not just about survival. We have to live with ourselves, too, and when this is all over, I don't want for us to have to look over our shoulders for the next thousand years."

Rosalie looks like she's about to argue, but the "mom" look Esme gives her is enough to quiet her into a petulant sulk.

"I think Carlisle's right," Jasper says, much to the surprise of everyone except Edward, who can, of course, read Jasper's mind. "Anyone who has been in power as long as the Volturi have will be able to rip us apart if we're not solid. We need to find out where our breaking points are before they do."

The obvious truth of this statement washes over us most unpleasantly.

"Good point," Carlisle says. "Let's just get it all out there and work together."

**~o****Ж****o~**

The family negotiations take a long time, mostly because Rosalie and Carlisle are the most stubborn creatures in existence. We (meaning mostly they) argue and hash out hypothetical situations all through the final preparations for our move. In some ways, it's like getting a crash course in philosophical ethics, this intentional drawing of moral boundaries between what constitutes self-defense and murder.

Mostly, I keep quiet, speaking up only when things come to a vote, and to suggest that we involve the Denali coven, since Demetri threatened them as a means to save his own skin. When we call, Eleazar confirms that they did indeed have unexpected company in the form of Felix and Alec.

"I suspected there was something else behind their visit," he informs us, his voice sounding too far away through the speakerphone. "Their excuse was flimsy, and Aro wasn't happy when they reported finding a newborn here, either."

"Why would they care about that?" I ask with so much dread and guilt I could drown in it. "Is he okay?"

"Riley's fine, don't worry," he says. "The problem is the cumulative effect of all the unexpected vampire traffic around here lately, particularly the Romanians. A newborn is just one more piece of evidence against me."

"Evidence?" Esme asks, looking alarmed. "Has it really gotten that bad?"

"Unfortunately, it seems to be the case," Eleazar replies. "But I can't say I'm surprised."

"It makes perfect sense," Edward says. "Aro has always gone back and forth between thinking that the real threat was either you or me or a combination of the two of us."

"He has always worried about untapped talent," Eleazar agrees. "He simply cannot believe that anyone who can become powerful would not want to."

"All of this could be so easily avoided," Carlisle says gravely. "Can't he see that this is all his own doing? His paranoia has become a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Speaking of prophecies, how's our girl?" Eleazar asks elliptically, cautious not to refer to Alice by name over the phone.

Paranoia breeds paranoia, it seems.

"She's fine," Carlisle says, just as careful. "We're all just worried about missing signals over here."

"I thought as much," he replies. "I know everyone is doing what they can. Safe voyage, my dear friends."

The call just reinforces Rosalie's argument that we should be willing to take stronger and possibly preemptive measures to protect the family, and sparks another round of intense debate with Carlisle on what those measures should and will include.

I don't even want to think about how long it would have taken if Alice hadn't finally intervened to announce which items both of them were going to eventually negotiate. While the process is, frankly, painfully tedious, I have to admit that some excellent points come up that simply wouldn't have occurred to me.

**~o****Ж****o~**

"You're being awfully quiet," Edward murmurs, threading his fingers through mine as we settle in on our chartered plane. "More than usual, I mean."

I turn my head to look over at Carlisle and Rosalie, with their blond heads bent over a laptop, wearing identical expressions of stubborn determination. They've progressed to the point of writing the whole agreement down in spite of their perfect memories. In an act of desperation or patience, Esme's playing chess with Emmett, and one row away from us, Alice seems to be carrying on both halves of a conversation with Jasper.

He seems amused, at least.

"There's not enough talking happening on this plane for you?" I ask with a little smile.

He nudges me a little, slipping his big elbow under my arm.

"You're worried about your parents."

"They're worried about me."

"They're worried, but they're okay."

I sigh.

"It's hard to care about things that might never happen when I know that they're sitting in a waiting room on an island off the coast of Brazil, worried sick about someone they may not even recognize as their daughter."

He turns and really looks at me, framing my face in his hands.

"Hey," he says, his voice gentle and warm. "They'll claim you, I promise. Besides, they're going to be so relieved to see you alive."

"But I'm not alive, Edward," I whisper. "You've met them. They're both...weirdly perceptive about some things, and I think they might know something's off."

"That's the beauty of the plan," he tells me, and he's so confident it actually makes me feel a little better. "You're going to be bandaged all over the place, you'll have tubes sticking out of everywhere. Everything will be off, so they're not going to notice that your eyes are a slightly different shade of brown."

"My voice has changed."

"You've been studying opera in Italy. You're bound to sound different."

"You've got an answer for everything, don't you? Charlie's going to notice that, too. It'll set off his bullshit detector."

"Yeah, well, I can read his mind," he counters.

I lift an eyebrow at him. "Now you're setting off mine."

"I can sort of read his mind," he admits. "I can certainly read his mustache twitches, and he gives the same _not buying it_ look that you do when you don't believe me. Like that one."

"Charlie may be armed."

"Renee will protect me," he says confidently. "She will! She loves me, and Charlie will just have to deal with it. It's going to be fine. You'll see."

Alice twists in her seat and gives me her full attention, which is slightly intimidating.

"What are you worried about?" she scowls at me. "Have I not prepared you? Have I not given you colored contact lenses and hand warmers? Did we not practice looking frail and injured?"

"You're not even going to be there," I say accusingly.

"Just until we get the all clear, my dear," she says defensively, slipping on some enormous sunglasses as her voice drops to a dramatic whisper. "We can't just traipse around in the open like you, opera star."

"Why is everybody so flippant?" I ask, trying not to sound too annoyed.

Edward looks over at Carlisle and Rosalie, who seem to be arguing yet again.

"Not everybody," I correct myself.

"The universe has to balance out somehow," Jasper says, twisting in his seat to look at me. "Don't fret. We won't be far."

**~o****Ж****o~**

_Are humans always this loud? _I ask Edward silently, listening to the cacophony my parents make following a human attendant down the hospital corridor. _They sound like a small herd of elephants._

He just smirks a little, but doesn't reply except to make a little "shh" sound. He's in character, "sleeping. "

_They really do. Their whispering is so loud. Everything is so much louder than vampires. Their __heartbeats__ are so loud. I swear I can hear the blood rushing through their veins. They smell delicious. Oh God, that's disturbing. _

My shield snaps back around me in my embarrassment, and to his credit, Edward tries very hard not to laugh. He stops failing at this the second before they appear in the doorway, their complexions all flushed pink with blood, skin dewy and glistening with tropical sweat. And yes, my mother's face has tear tracks, too. It breaks my cold, dead heart.

"Baby!" my mother says, dropping some bags on the floor to dash to my bedside. "Oh my poor Bella! You're so pale, honey. Can I touch you? Will it hurt?"

"My hand is okay," I whisper, and she immediately takes it in her own. Even though I've just been holding a heating pad, her skin still feels feverish on mine. "Dad?"

"I'm here," he says, coming around the other side of the hospital bed, sparing a look at the supposedly sleeping Edward for a moment before pulling up a chair between the two beds to sit down. He looks tired, and considerably older than the last time I saw him. Had his mustache always been so gray? Guiltily, I wonder how new those lines are around his eyes and mouth, and how much of that is my fault. "You sure had us worried there, kid."

"Sorry," I say miserably, and I mean it.

"Shush, Charlie," Renee scolds him. "I told him not to make you feel guilty. I know you didn't ask for this, honey."

_Oh, but I did. _The irony of her trying to make me feel better with those precise words does not escape me.

"I never want you to worry about me," I whisper. It's the truth, and the best apology I can make in all honesty. "I didn't want you guys to be upset."

"Okay," Charlie says, managing to look slightly embarrassed and harassed at the same time. The expression is hauntingly familiar, but I can't put my finger on why, for some reason. "Anyway, the doc says you're both going to pull through for sure now. It was a little touch and go for a while."

Renee gives him another look, and he shrugs, as if to say he's doing his best.

"How's Edward?" she asks, looking across Charlie at the next bed. "Still handsome as ever. We'll let him sleep, poor guy."

Charlie rolls his eyes, obviously not as impressed with the preservation of Edward's bone structure as my mother is.

"I don't remember much," I say, trying to keep my tone dreamy and my words strictly truthful, as if I'm on heavy pain medication. "I was on a plane, and now I'm here."

"I guess that's a good thing, considering all the trauma," Renee says, hopping up to retrieve the bags from the doorway. "Speaking of which, when they called, they said you might have some problems with your memory, so I brought you lots of pictures to look at as soon as you feel up to it."

She takes out a huge photo album with daisies all over the front cover, and a few smaller, square albums as well. Then she puts a few framed pictures on the bedstand between the two hospital beds. There's a picture from my wedding, and an older one of Renee and Charlie looking heartbreakingly young, happy and just about to have a baby. There's a picture of a younger me with the older woman, our eyes absolutely identical.

"Grandma Swan!" I say in earnest surprise. "I was having a hard time remembering something about her."

"You were very close," she says, smiling. "And very much alike in so many ways. The eyes especially."

"I remember," I say, touching the picture. "It was just a bit fuzzy."

It's not precisely that I forgot about her, but more like her memory was so faded in comparison with my sharp reality that she was well on her way to being forgotten. The realization pains me, and Renee reaches up to caress my cheek, very gently. But she's looking deep into my eyes, and frowning.

"Bella, honey, I don't think your circulation is good right now. You're freezing and it's like, five hundred degrees in this place. I'm going to go get that nice doctor."

When she leaves, Charlie shifts in his chair, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"You cold, Bella?" he asks, bringing my blanket closer to my chin. "The doc says you'll be on stage, singing away again in no time."

"Carlisle really spoke about me singing again soon?"

"Not Carlisle," he informs me. "Carlisle just flew in today. You must have really been out of it, but he said you would be. Your trauma surgeon has been keeping us in the loop."

I must look really confused, because he keeps talking.

"Yeah, he's quite a talker," he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, he patched you up and made your mom feel better, but he's... he's just kind of weird. Who knows, maybe it's just a cultural thing. Lucky for you, he's a big fan of yours, so he was really careful to make sure your ah, voicebox or whatever was healthy."

"He's a fan?" I ask stupidly, a dark suspicion growing in my mind. "Of opera in general or me in particular?"

"Both, it turns out. He says you've met before," he says dubiously, shifting enough in his chair for me to see a rather unhappy-looking Edward in the bed behind him. Charlie gives him a wary nod. "You, look rough, son, but don't worry. I'm sure the doctor will give you something for the pain. He does seem to know everything there is to know about opera. Says he's dedicated to making sure you two are able to use your talents to their fullest potential, whatever that means. That's a good thing, I guess."

He stands, unblocking my view of the doorway to reveal what my ears and nose have already told me: My fragile, gullible human mother, standing entirely too close to the most powerful and manipulative vampire on the planet, gossiping animatedly like new best friends. He looks like some soap opera fantasy of a doctor, dressed in a gleaming white, perfectly tailored lab coat, a shiny stethoscope around his pale neck.

Without consciously thinking about it I zero in on my mother's hand on Aro's arm, watch helplessly as he reaches to pat her hand with his cool, papery hand. The moment seems to stretch in front of me, and I don't think. I can't. She's my mother, no matter what I've become, and I'd throw myself in front of a train for her.

Instinctively, I throw my shield over her, covering her warm human skin with every bit of protection available to me. I feel my shield hold against Aro's receptive touch, succeeding where it failed to protect others from the violence of Jane. I sigh in relief for one stupid instant before I realize what's happening, that I've just demonstrated my power for the one person I really wanted to hide it from.

Aro looks absolutely delighted, and Edward groans a little.

"Isabella, my dear," he exclaims with what can only be described as a coy smile. "How wonderful, but you have improved beyond my expectations! I do hope you remember me?"

**~o****Ж****o~**


	44. Canzone recap- new chapter on the way!

Yes, this means that the next chapter of Canzone is finally with my lovely beta and should be up sometime in the next few days. I am very sorry it took so long. I used to have a job with lots of downtime between answering phone calls. Then I got a job where I'm always busy. Then, my sister's husband died in the same week I met the love of my life- so you might imagine that life went all explody for me for a while- between hours of comforting my sister and hours of bliss and wedding planning, then honeymooning, etc, all I had time to do for Canzone was get frustrated that untangling the loose ends wasn't easy. I had pre-written much of the ending, but the metaphorical bridge was out somewhere between point A and point Z- the final scenes I had written worked by themselves, but the connecting writing was forced and just didn't work. So now my life is still bonkers, but the story is flowing again, even though I'm having to reset some scenes and rewrite a couple of others.

So please, pretend we're sitting at my kitchen table, and I'm giving a light-hearted recap- I apologize for the informality of the tone, if that offends anyone.

_Our story so far... _

_BOOK ONE_

_When Bella begins her first semester as a music major and opera student, she immediately feels like she's in over her head with her studies, and she's more right than she knows. _

_Her voice teacher, the famous tenor Emil George, thinks that Bella has what it takes to make it big, and pairs her with handsome, brooding pianist Edward. At first, he resists their attraction, so Bella tries to focus on her studies, finding help from married graduate students Jasper and Alice. _

_Edward tries to stay away from Bella for her own good, but soon finds that she needs his protection in more ways than one. First, Dr. George wants to help her win a scholarship to a prestigious opera program in Volterra, though a mysterious man named Aro. Before Edward can figure out how to stop this dangerous plan, he has to rescue Bella from an attack by an inhumanly strong man with a European accent. Fortunately for Bella, Edward is just as strong._

_He's also driving her a little nuts with his hot looks and cold, barely-there touch, but she starts to realize that there are plenty of things about Edward that don't quite add up. A visit home to Forks and her childhood friend Jacob gives her the last piece of the puzzle, and Edward himself unknowingly (!) locks it into place at the end of their first real date. __Yes,__ vampires exist and Edward is one of them! But he's a __"vegetarian", so it's okay._

_Her friend Alice, who always seems to know things, has her own suspicions, but is quite busy helping her husband Jasper prepare for a lecture series they both hope will change his life. Again, they don't know the half of it. Bella gets cast in an opera, instantly earning the hatred of her fellow students, but Dr. George thinks she'__ll get__ the Volterra scholarship if she does well. _

_Speaking of things that seem like a good idea but really aren't, Carlisle visits Aro and shakes his hand. Why is this such a bad idea? Because Aro now knows what Carlisle knows, and Carlisle knows that Edward has a human girlfriend who can block Edward's mind-reading abilities. Also, Carlisle knows that Edward is worried about Bella being up for the Volterra scholarship. What neither Carlisle nor Edward knows is that the vampire who attacked Bella earlier that year happened to be Aro's very talented guard and tracker, Demetri. Aro knows everything that Demetri knows too, which is pretty much everything about the attack and fight with Edward. Aro's surprised to hear that Bella is still alive, because Demetri can't track he__r at all__._

_S__o, __Aro plans a little surprise party for Bella's first opera performance. He invites his old friend Eleazar from Alaska to scope out Bella's supernatural aptitude, and he brings along half of Volterra with him- Jane, Renata, and, __yes__, Demetri. You know, the one who tried to kill Bella._

_This all goes to hell very quickly, thus reinforcing Bella's inherent dislike of surprise parties forever. Before the night is over, Demetri chases Bella all over hell's half acre and Alice has lost her mind. Why did she lose her mind? Because, human as she is, she's still psychic, but she can't make sense of what she sees. Fortunately, Edward can read her mind, and since vampires are wicked smart, he can read it just fine, and understands all too well that a) Jasper's changing into a vampire and b) they are all in serious danger of becoming enslaved to the Volturi forever unless they figure out how to change things. So Edward, Alice, and Bella run off in search of Jasper._

_It turns out that Renata, Aro's personal bodyguard, has been hanging out with Eleazar at a certain life-changing lecture. Eleazar's talent involves spotting talent, and he told her that Bella's a powerful shield, and that __the guy__ lecturing Ja__sper __would also be a talented vampire. So Renata g__e__ts proactive and decided to make a present for Aro, which apparently involved sinking her venomous teeth into Jasper's deliciou__s__ neck. Hence the crazy-making of Alice._

_SO... they manage to find poor, suffering Jasper, stuff him in a vehicle__,__ and head off into the Olympic forest to hide from the Volturi. After Alice Sees All and convinces him to, Edward bites her so that she and her honey can wake up one happy vampire family. He makes sure that Emmett and Rose are on their way, and then he finds Bella and they do it in the woods. There's actually lots of doing it, but I'm not going to cover all that in this synopsis. _

_Then all the Cullens finally gallup in on their white horses for a better-late-than-never rescue operation. Rose and Emmett whisk Alice and Jasper away, and Carlisle comes to help Edward deal with the mess that he made when he trusted Aro. Edward tries to hide Bella, and there's a car chase, and then Jane really enjoys torturing Edward, but Bella and Carlisle show up and request a parlay to save Edward from Satan's Littlest Helper and her death glare. _

_By now, Caius and Marcus have shown up because this has turned into some S__erious Vampire Business__, which needs to be handled officially. Aro is greedy and wants all the talented vampires to come work for him. Caius, doomed forever to play both the voice of reason and the humorless a-hole, is probably the only thing that keeps Aro from turning into a vampire version of Caligula. Aro's just sane enough to know that while stability is unfun, he likes to be in power, and things go better when he follows protocol. Marcus is just there to vote and__ be sad, because his true love is dead__. What he doesn__'t know is that Aro killed her in a fit of possessive rage._

_In the end, they all agree to get to know each other better over hot cups of opera while Bella studies in Volterra. The contract gives Aro a lot of power, but it specifically prevents any harm coming to Bella, and access to vegetarian meals for Edward. Aro's convinced that they'll love it so much they'll stay._

_And Voila! They're off to Volterra!_

_Book__ 2 - Volterra!_

_So __our heroes__ show up in Volterra and Aro sets about seducing them to the dark side, but also enjoys __messing__ with __their minds__. He tries, he __**tries **__to be charming and welcoming, but sometimes he gets the feeling that Edward has an ulterior motive, because Aro's not stupid. He IS paranoid, however, so he assumes that Edward wants what he would want if he were Edward- that is to say- have power over everyone and do whatever he wants to do. He's half right, because Edward doesn't like people enough to want to control them, but he is determined to do what he wants to do, and even more determined to keep Bella out from under Aro's thumb._

_Bella learns a lot about opera and even more about what kind of music Aro doesn't like and why. Demetri wants to seduce Bella and fight Edward, Marcus lives in his memory of his really dead wife, Caius wants everyone to follow the rules for the sake of stability, half the Volturi decide to embrace the Cullen diet, Aro gets increasingly annoyed and suspicious, and Jane would love to torture Bella and Edward, but she's not allowed. _

_Meanwhile in Canadalaska, Eleazar helps Alice fine-tune her psychic skills while Jasper has a bitch of a time sticking to his diet and controlling his new, hyper-amplified (even for a vamp) emotions, and the Cullen/Denali clans do everything they can to help the new vamps acclimate and Bella and Edward survive politically. _

_Demetri is clearly not used to women turning him down, so his attempts to seduce Bella get a little crazy when he sets up a situation in which he can play the hero for her. He waits until Edward gets sent out of town to spy on the Egyptian coven, and then he sets two human thugs on her. Alice sees this ahead of time, also seeing it as an opportunity to remove Demetri from Volterra. Everything goes according to plan, even the part where Edward loses his temper and punches out a shark on the swim back to Volterra. Carlisle shows up to save Bella, Caius acts like the lawful evil guy he is, and Demetri gets exiled for breaking the contract with the Cullens. Edward gets really mad at everyone, but he looks so hot when he's mad, so the make-up sex is good, if a little rough on the furniture and Alice buys him a new piano as a peace offering for her part in putting our girl in danger._

_Edward and Bella go on tour and have a surprise, semi-secret wedding, with all the Cullens and B's parents involved, but no Volturi... When they get back, Aro's paranoia gets out of control, partially because he's not entirely incorrect about the Cullens pulling one over on him, and about Edward's innate charisma. Aro decides that he can control Edward and Bella by enforcing the bit in the contract where he gets to decide when and if Bella can become a vampire, threatening to let her get old and die, or just die, if it comes down to it. _

_This triggers particularly bad memories for Marcus, who spends all his time pining for his dead wife and has really grown fond of Bella, who loves books as much as he does. Marcus doesn't know that his wife, the joyful Didyme, was murdered by her own brother, Aro. Aro doesn't notice that Marcus' expression has changed for like the first time since that horrible day._

_All hell__ breaks loose- Aro starts making crazy-sounding accusations and threats and Jane starts attacking Edward. Caius tries to calm Aro down, but insists on enforcing the contract. Marcus gathers enough motivation to decide that as a powerful member of the Volturi, he has the legal authority to change Bella himself, and he shocks everyone but telepathic Edward and psychic Alice by doing just that. He bites Bella in order to save her from Aro's paranoia, thus allowing Bella and Edward to move on to the next stage of the contract- a year's worth of relative peace and quiet in Alaska while Bella's newborn instability and Hulk-smashiness calms the hell down. _

_The Cullens of course have all this worked out in advance, thanks to Alice, and our __heroes__ get whisked away to the frozen tundra._

_ACT THREE- __Canada, Alaska, and the rest of the World_

_So Bella spends some time in hellish agony and wakes up thirsty, cranky, violent, and confused. The family brings her poor animals (but no poor humans) to drain and take her hunting, and she eventually gets to have some sexytimes with Edward again. She gets control over the changes in her singing voice, and she and Edward make a CD to try to make nice with Aro, who still has contractual control over way too much of their lives._

_When Bella calms down a bit, Eleazar and Kate (and her new husband Garrett) come to help Bella learn how to control her wonder-shield. As Kate zaps Edward with her electric touch, Bella finds she can pull her shield over others, and that when she shields Edward, he can hear her thoughts loud and clear. At first she doesn't like the idea of Edward reading her mind, but she learns to enjoy some of the benefits of controlled silent messages. Edward also enjoys the relative silence her shield provides, since when she covers him he can hear only her, and not the yammering cacophony he usually gets subjected to. _

_All the Canadalaskan vampires with extra special talents get together in secret to figure out some worst-case scenario strategies, because Carlisle is stubbornly moral, and Aro is crazy enough to do some real damage._

_Speak of the devil, Aro seems to enjoy the peace offering, and in return offers her some flowers hand delivered by a delicious human. Alice, of course sees this in advance and they make plans to make sure Bella avoids said tasty human. Sadly, Alice doesn't see Riley Biers, a forest ranger who got a little lost (therefore not making a decision to be where he ended up) and doesn't see the animal that Bella chases, sending her on an inadvertent collision course with Riley's sweet, sweet-smelling human blood. _

_Riley just wants to help Bella, but the temptation is too much for her, and she __omnomnoms him a little__ before Rose catches up and makes her stop before she kills him. He doesn't die...all the way... but instead changes into a vampire. Bella feels guilty and Edward feels guilty because he wasn't there to stop her, but they try to make the best of it and take Riley to Alaska, where the Denali vampires can mentor his pants off. _

_While they're out there, the Cullens learn that a whole lot of vampires have been coming to Denali to find out what's really going on in Volterra- if the rumors are true that Aro is losing control and if so, how unstable the vampire hierarchy really is. Some talented vampires have visited because they worry about Aro's greed for talented vampires getting even worse than it has been. In fact, there's been such a steady stream of talented and political vampires, (particularly the dangerous and once-powerful Romanians Stefan and Vladimir) that the Denali clan splits up, taking newborn Riley and the talented Benjamin (and his wife) to a safer house._

_The Cullens don't even have time to get back from this delivery when they get visited by Jane, Alec and Felix. Aro has sent these three badasses with a heavy handed double-message. First, and most obviously, he sends the news that Bella's newborn year is up, and that Aro wants the musical couple back under his thumb and his watchful eye. Aro has her career all plotted out, and by sending his three most brutal assassins to deliver this simple message, is also sending the subtext that he is in control, and determined to get what he wants. What Aro wants, ultimately, is to have Bella and Edward's power at his disposal, and he wouldn't mind having all the Cullens at his court as well, mostly because he misses his bromance with Carlisle. He's also looking for Jasper (who, let's remember from Act I, he knows has some sort of talent and is a vampire) and he may or may not be aware of Jasper's association with Bella and Edward back in the day, so that may be contributing to his growing suspicions. He would seriously flip the fuck out if he knew about Alice, but at this point all he can possibly know about her is that she's married to Jasper and went missing __at the same time__. _

_Jane, however, doesn't like anything about the Cullens. Outwardly, she's concerned about the way things are going for her master, and wants to rid him of the threat. Truth be told, she's also insanely jealous of all the attention that Aro pays these vampires, and she really hates that she can't hurt Bella directly. The only thing Jane likes about the Cullen family is the look on Edward's __pretty__ face when she tortures him, but she's not supposed to do any of that unless things get out of hand. She __really__ wants things to get out of hand, but would prefer to do it her own way, so she sends Alec and Felix to deal with Stefan and Vladimir while she delivers Aro's message. She breaks the rules and the contract by once again attacking, which qualifies as a worst-case scenario, and the more talented vampires work in tandem to break Jane.  
_

_They come close to killing her, but between Carlisle's qualms and the fact that a dead Jane would leave traces and lead to immediate and very bloody war, they let her wander off in the snow, headed northish, where almost nobody lives__. __This action is not without consequences, however, and Demetri shows up to threaten Rose and Bella. He and Edward finally have that fight, and Edward rips his enemy's arm off and nearly kills him with it before Demetri blackmails him into stopping. Alice and Jasper remain hidden from all Volturi as the whole family packs up to move to an island off the coast of Brazil, where Bella and Edward are supposed to pretend to be horribly injured from a plane crash in order to explain the differences in her appearance. _

_When they get to the island, they find Bella's parents already there, as well as a surprise visit from Aro, who poses as a doctor, and manages to gain access to all of Renee's memories._


	45. Check and Castle

**Chapter 44**

**Hello, lovelies. It's been a long time, and for that I am sorry. I'd hate to be left hanging too. For a recap of Canzone up to this point, please back up one chapter. **

**This chapter is for anyone who still cares after all this time, but especially for all the reviewers, Detochkina and Camilla10 for their personal encouragement, and especially to AdorableCullens for that plus a quick sanity check when NelsonSmandela's schedule went to haywire for beta-ing. **

**This is also dedicated to Just4ALE, and to the painful reminder that sometimes tomorrow doesn't come, so the time is now. Peace to you, sweet friend. You are missed.**

**Chapter music**

**Joby Talbot: Path of Miracles**

**Movement 3: Leon**

** /JiQ62ZusmVU**

**Paul Simon: Can't Run But**

** /Hbxsm7r3B6o**

**Per-Olov Kindgren plays "Jeux interdits" aka "Romance" or "Romance d'Amour"**

** /IfTbbfHPIhA**

**~oЖo~**

**Super short summary for those not wanting to back up a chapter- Bella is in a hospital in Brazil, pretending to recover from an accident that is supposed to provide the cover story for any noticeable changes to her appearance and voice. They are expecting her parents, who do come, but naughty Aro has shown up quite unexpectedly, posing as a doctor.**

_He stands, unblocking my view of the doorway to reveal what my ears and nose have already told me: My fragile, gullible human mother, standing entirely too close to the most powerful and manipulative vampire on the planet, gossiping animatedly like new best friends. He looks at first like some soap opera fantasy of a doctor, dressed in a gleaming white, perfectly tailored lab coat, a shiny stethoscope around his pale neck._

_Without consciously thinking about it, I zero in on my mother's hand on Aro's arm, watching helplessly as he reaches to pat her hand with his cool, papery hand. The moment seems to stretch in front of me, and I don't think. I can't. She's my mother, no matter what I've become, and I'd throw myself in front of a train for her._

_Instinctively, I throw my shield over her, covering her warm human skin with every bit of protection available to me. I feel my shield hold against Aro's receptive touch, succeeding where it failed to protect others from the violence of Jane. I sigh in relief for one stupid instant before I realize what's happening, that I've just demonstrated my power for the one person I really wanted to hide it from._

_Aro looks absolutely delighted, and Edward groans a little._

_"Isabella, my dear," Aro exclaims with what can only be described as a coy smile. "How wonderful, but you have improved beyond my expectations! I do hope you remember me?"_

If I were human, I'd freeze at this moment, but I'm no longer human, and my thoughts inundate instead. I stare at my mother's beautiful face, as a series of human-tinged memories flood my conscious.

I know this particular expression- it's the one she gets on those rare occasions when she's acting like my mom instead of my best friend. It's the look she always used to get before taking me to the emergency room again for yet another broken bone, or if I'm lucky, just a few stitches. It's that look of worry and determination, when she becomes a nearly different person altogether.

I do what I've always done, a reflex.

"It's not really that bad, Mom," I say, and my voice seems to echo with the memory of every other time I've said those precise words.

As the unanswered question hangs in the air, Aro's smile sharpens.

"Of course I remember you, Dr. Aro. I could never forget you."

_Take that as you will. _

"I should hope not, but we do like to verify that your memory works."

"Perfectly, thank you." And that's the end of my reserve air. I'll have to speak sooner or later- better to get it over with now.

I inhale, taking in the new deluge of scent. My parents- warm and fragrant- smell disturbingly good, in spite of a slightly unpleasant additions to the heavenly coppery tang of their pulsing blood. My father's blood smells too sweet to be thought of as manly, but slightly spiked with alcohol, something harder than beer. My mother's blood has a floral quality, echoed nicely by her faintly perfumed lotion, a ginger and jasmine scent I recognize as part of a gift I sent her from Italy.

Aro's far subtler scent reminds me of the oddly sharp notes of old papyrus, not so much dusty as ancient, but inscrutable all the same. His influence over us seems irrevocable, his presence here with my parents in the same room beyond dangerous. I feel him coiled around us all like a snake, and wonder how I can ever protect those I love from his paranoia and control.

I fear it will never possible.

I focus in on Aro's hand on my mother's bare skin and search my human memories for anything that she might know that could hurt us...

_The wedding._

Alice and Jasper were at our wedding, using their real names. Alice and my mom had several conversations in fact- conversations that Aro now knows verbatim. He knows we've been hiding Jasper's whereabouts, and Alice's vampire existence.

_Oh God._

One look at Edward's pained expression confirms my fears and then some. I flex my shield, pulling it back so that Edward can read Aro, but hovering close enough to throw it over him at vampire speed when the inevitable moment comes.

"Surprise," Aro whispers sweetly, obviously relishing this moment. "I bet you didn't expect to see me here, did you? The moment I heard about your terrible plane crash, I hopped right on a plane and volunteered my services."

"Can you believe that?" Renee asks, marveling. Charlie looks as if he really can't.

"I can believe it," Edward says quietly. "Hello, Doctor."

"You can, huh?" Charlie asks, his cop senses obviously tingling. "So you know the doctor pretty well I take it?"

Aro smiles at my father indulgently while patting Renee's arm.

"The doctor and his family have always been supportive of our music," Edward says. "They show up whenever anything of significance happens."

"We like to protect our investments," Aro agrees with a crocodile smile. "No third world doctors for my two favorite musicians, I said to myself. They're likely to make some kind of stupid mistake, never realizing what kind of talent they've got right under their noses. After all, there's only one Isabella Swan. Where would we find another with talent like hers?"

He pauses and looks significantly at Charlie, whose expression remains guarded.

"We just had the one kid, doc," he says dryly. "I don't think Renee's new husband would take kindly to us trying again, just to try to produce another opera singer for you."

Aro laughs, looking just a little too delighted with my father.

"Oh Charlie, I don't think he meant _that_," Renee interjects, looking unfazed. She turns back to me. "Aro here says he's your number one fan, but I keep telling him you can't compete with a mom for that title."

"And I keep telling the lovely Signora here that those are, how do you say in your country, those are _fighting words_?"Aro pauses, staring at me pointedly before taking on a more serious tone while Renee laughs and Charlie cocks an eyebrow. "Rest assured we're going to do everything in our power to make sure our two great talents here are in top shape and exactly where they belong, fulfilling their destinies."

Charlie's expression tells me he's had just about enough of Aro. I think Renee picks up on this because she asks Aro if she can ask him some questions in the hall.

Even from the hall, I can clearly hear Renee's human-hushed pleas for him to level with her. _Her skin is ice-cold, that can't be normal..._

Charlie's own whispered concerns pull my attention back into the room.

"Bella, what kind of people have you gotten yourself involved with?"

I pause, knowing Aro can hear Charlie as well.

"It's not what you think-"

"I think," he interrupts, "that you're somehow in over your head and are afraid to tell me what it's all about. I don't want to play to a stereotype, but is this related to some kind of organized crime?"

"It's not the mafia," I begin, struggling for some meaningful distinction that doesn't involve the supernatural. Given that restriction, Charlie isn't that far off.

"Aro comes from a very powerful family," Edward supplies. "But it's far older and far more influential than the mafia. They are a little strange by American standards, but they're only interested in our talents, and they've always been above board in legal matters. They may be used to getting what they want, but there's no reason for me to believe that we or anyone we love will be harmed."

"They've been incredibly helpful to us, and have never asked me to do anything other than sing." Charlie looks dubious at this, and I add, half under my breath, "Besides, Edward and I have absolutely no interest in politics."

"You may not be interested in whatever they're mixed up in," Charlie warns, "but innocent people get swept up in things they don't understand all the time, and you could end up ...dead."

As if on cue, Aro and Renee return, and she sits next to me on the bed, fussing with my blanket. It's just a pretext to touch my cold skin again, and I close my eyes to avoid her searching gaze.

It's a mistake, because without the distraction of vision, I'm overwhelmed by other senses. Human heartbeats, loud, thumping and giving away distress or calm. The scents of subtle shifts in adrenaline, emphasizing every emotion like punctuation. Their blood smells too good, and I open my eyes again, swallowing hard, to find Aro observing me before he returns his attention to my parents.

Aro eyes them with a familiar, speculative expression. "You should really come visit Italy," he says with a decidedly non-reassuring smile. "I think you would find it both entertaining and...provocative."

Now I can actually hear the sound of Charlie's blood pressure going up as the skin around his eyes tightens almost imperceptibly.

"Right. Bella, your mom and I are going to go back to the hotel now," Charlie says, and while Renee looks like she might protest, one look at Charlie's expression changes her mind. Renee may have her faults, but the woman fights no losing battles.

The goodbyes take as long as Charlie will tolerate, and they leave, taking Aro's pleasant facade with them.

"You two," he says slowly, waving a long finger between us, "have been holding out on me."

"You didn't exactly give us much of a choice," I point out, in a half-hearted attempt to avert his gaze from Edward.

"You know, I have wondered if there were genetic aspects to human traits that would translate into vampire talents, but never before have I seen proof like this."

"What?" I ask, confused. What does this have to do with Jasper and Alice? I look over at Edward, but he just shakes his head slightly, managing his temper.

Barely.

"He's subtle, so rare in America. And I really, really _like _him," Aro continues, "though at the moment he certainly doesn't like me. But I think his caution just proves that his protective instincts are excellent, and of course, that is the core of what we'd need him for in the first place. Isabella's father will come around. We'll have all the time in the world."

"Charlie?" I whisper, stunned. "Oh no." _No._

"Oh yes." Satisfaction blooms radiant in his smile. "Come now, Isabella, surely you can't be surprised to hear that talent can run in families- or did Edward never mention to you that he can't really hear your father's mind either? Not that I'm all that surprised by any of this. Your Edward always keeps his... little secrets. Very selfish, don't you think? It almost makes me _paranoid._"

"What do you want?" Edward's voice sounds cold and steady, as he tosses his blankets aside. "I'm not in the mood for any more games."

"I want what everyone wants, Edward," Aro says, hands out in mock protest. "The only difference is that I have thousands of years of experience, and I already have all I need. I do not, however, intend to lose it to some upstart with a bit of talent."

"You're wrong, Aro." Edward stands to his full height, peeling tubes and hospital tape from his arms. "Has it ever occurred to you that nobody wants to take your place? Nobody wants to take over Volterra, Aro. You are right only in that it's all yours, it's been yours for longer than anyone remembers. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that maybe some of us just want to go our own way and not be interfered with if we follow the rules? Isn't that our right?"

Aro gazes unblinkingly at Edward, and he looks utterly alien to me in this moment. There is no trace of humanity in him, none whatsoever.

"I begin to believe you." Aro says in an eerily quiet tone. "My dear boy- forgive me, because that is precisely what you are to someone my age, just a boy- you do not see the situation clearly at all. You would be correct if you and Isabella were ordinary vampires, but you are not. You are individuals, with feelings, yes, but when you've been ruling the vampire world for thousands of years, you do begin to see things according to their _potential _as well as their current state."

"You, my dears, are extraordinary vampires, but more than that, you are valuable, incalculably valuable weapons. Weapons that were just lying in the middle of the godforsaken forest, just waiting for the right ruler to come along to wield you properly, like Excalibur waited for Arthur. You don't leave priceless weapons just lying about in the forest, Edward."

"We're not weapons," I say stubbornly.

"Oh, but you are, dearest Isabella, you are," he says, chuckling as he reaches to pat my arm. I struggle not to recoil from his brief touch. "The question is, whose weapons are you? Up until now I thought it was Edward who was in charge, but I see, I see, he doesn't have the military vision required for this. Does Carlisle?"

"You _know _Carlisle, Aro," Edward insists, his voice deceptively low.

"I once did," Aro corrects. "I no longer have the same...access to his innermost thoughts. I no longer enjoy his trust. I can only assume-"

"You can assume that his character remains unchanged," Edward interrupts. "None of us can change that much. What you suggest, it is the opposite, the antithesis of Carlisle's character."

"Perhaps," Aro says, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps not. But I have not maintained my position in this world for so long by allowing uncertainties to pile up. As I said, the two of you have been holding out on me, haven't you?"

What am I supposed to say to that? It doesn't matter, he's got more to say, as usual.

"So to answer your rather blunt, American question, Edward," Aro says thoughtfully, walking slowly to the exit, "I want- no, I _require _more talented vampires to replace the ones you've cost me. If you are able to produce Jasper Whitlock in the next 24 hours, and if I think that you two will actually honor your agreement with the Volturi, then I will _consider_ allowing Charles Swan to return to his mundane human life."

Aro pauses at the door, and looks at me with something like nostalgia.

"I do miss your human reactions, Isabella," he sighs. "You used to be so much fun."

**~oЖo~**

Mere moments later, we are left completely alone. After the theater that is the small "hospital" has been stripped down to the faint hum of electricity and structure, we slip out of our beds and into the night. I cover Edward with my shield, not wanting to give the thought any power by speaking it aloud.

_We can't let him take Charlie. _

"We'll figure something out," he says, sounding less than confident.

_Then he'll figure something out, and we'll have to react to that, too._

"He's been doing this a lot longer than we have," he agrees. "But we're not helpless, and we're not alone."

Finding the road deserted for the moment, we touch hands briefly before breaking into a distinctly inhuman sprint, slowing down only once to hide in shadows when couple of cars pass by. Once we reach the island's patch of jungle, we run again, stopping for nothing, not even to hunt.

We have GPS coordinates that belong to no road, and the vegetation is so thick in places that we end up climbing trees to find our way out of its lush tangle. As we get closer to the coordinates, Edward tilts his face up, and I follow his gaze, seeing the eerie beauty of unfamiliar constellations in the gaps among the trees and vines.

"New growth," he murmurs, nodding at sandy patches in the ground that remind me of dirty misplaced beaches. New vines twist around old, dead stumps that must have smoldered in a fire of some kind. Green things aren't the only thing missing in this strange landscape.

"The noises are different too," I say, slowing down to match his new pace. "There's a...patch of silence up ahead, in those trees there."

"Silent to you, maybe," Edward glowers, looking concerned. "There are a lot of active minds in there."

"More than you expected?" I ask. Alice warned us that they had company in her latest text message.

"Far too many for comfort- at least twenty-five or thirty vampires, maybe more. So far, I don't sense any hostility in their thoughts. Just...wariness and curiosity."

I take a deep breath, tasting green in the air, and brace myself as we make our way into a dense bit of forest that soon opens up into a breathtakingly beautiful clearing, full of ferns, vines, and the soft glow of a campfire, illuminated the faces of many vampires, several of whom I know.

Outside of the Cullens and Denali clan, I recognize some of them- Benjamin and his wife, and at least one from Volterra- Maggie, the red-headed vampire who disliked the Volturi because her talent involved recognizing a lie. None of them seem very surprised to see us, but several murmur quietly among themselves. Familiar faces glow with firelight as Carlisle and Esme emerge from the crowd.

Esme pulls me into a gentle embrace. She always treats me as if I were still human. I lean into her, tired from all the deception. Over her shoulder I meet the curious gaze of Riley, the vampire I created, and wave, a little guiltily. He nods, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth as Tanya wraps an arm around his waist. He leans into her with a kind of familiar ease which I find oddly comforting. He's obviously used to their kindness.

"He's fine," Edward whispers in my hair. "He's anxious for you to know that."

I nod and take his hand, allow myself to be taken into the circle where Alice sits, cross-legged and serene, her violin balanced on one knee. Seeing Jasper, looking focused and calm next to her, I wonder how much he's influencing the mood of the group. In my experience, this many vampires in one place doesn't generally equal peace, but they all seem okay.

How many vampires can he influence at once?

As if in answer to my silent question, I feel one of Jasper's signature waves ripple through me, subtle, like a good mood for no apparent reason. If I didn't know how it works, I wouldn't think anything of it. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he grins. I notice the faint gleam of wood in his hand, his acoustic guitar resting in his lap.

"Welcome," he says. "You missed some good music, but we might start playing again soon. We've got a good group here."

I notice that they're not the only ones with instruments.

"Music always draws a crowd," Edward says, exchanging a significant look with Alice.

"You're right, we should play," she says, staring into the fire. "Otherwise he won't come."

Jasper shifts his guitar into position and starts picking a haunting, vaguely Spanish-sounding tune. Soon he's joined by Alice, and I hear a few percussion instruments and some harmonious humming. The music thrums with a vague anticipation, someone in the distance beating a perfect rhythm, impossibly fast.

Edward watches the forest as Alice watches the fire, but somehow I think he must be listening to her. Carlisle and Eleazar close in, gazing over my shoulder with such intensity that I turn around to see. A vampire, half shadow himself, emerges slowly from the darkness. The music fades, instrument by instrument, until it's just Jasper, keeping that same swift rhythm with each pluck of the strings. The mood shifts, but I feel his influence catching it, harnessing the energy as if wind in a sail. It's an impressive demonstration, and I wonder how many of these vampires know they're being influenced. The stranger gets closer, and I begin to understand the reason for the change.

For a moment I fear it's Aro, but he's too tall. Then, intuition tells me before I recognize his face that it's the powerful vampire whose bite started turning me. His pallor glows in the moonlight as he approaches, and stops directly in front of me, placing a fatherly hand on my shoulder briefly before acknowledging the others.

"Marcus," Eleazar's deep voice sounds cautiously cordial. "It's been a long time."

"Too long, apparently," he replies in a similar tone. "It seems you've been very busy."

"Not my choice, exactly. I prefer peace and quiet."

A very eerie stillness falls over the group, aside from the sounds of Jasper's guitar and the kind of hushed whispers only vampires are capable of- to a human it would sound like a breeze, if my memory of life with the Volturi holds true. I may be used to seeing Marcus out of his regal context, but for the others it must be like seeing, I don't know, the pope or a head of state just walking around.

Or like a lion out of its cage. While the mildest-mannered of the Volturi, he still seems incredibly dangerous.

"Hmm, I wonder," Marcus turns to Jasper and Alice. "So, you must be the ones that have Aro so very intrigued. Jasper, is it? And a human wife turned as well?"

Jasper nods over his guitar, and Alice flashes a pretty smile before speaking. "Hello Marcus."

Marcus turns to Eleazar, his demeanor a bit more imperious than I'm used to seeing from him. He puts one hand on his shoulder, and I can't tell if the gesture is meant to be one of intimacy or intimidation. Perhaps both.

"Eleazar, when we allowed you to leave our service, it was on one condition, do recall?"

"Of course, I do," Eleazar's responds in low, clear tones. "I am to provide the service whenever asked, at your pleasure. I am willing."

Marcus betrays no emotion, but his gaze travels back to Jasper and Alice. By this time only Jasper's guitar continues, the low plucking taking on the minor tones of long-held sadness and despair. I am reminded that Jasper absorbs as much emotion as he puts out. Marcus must be something quite intense for someone of his talent to deal with.

"Let me be direct, Eleazar," he says, his voice so low I can barely hear him, even from a few feet away. "Aro's convinced that you've got someone who can see the future. Is it true?"

"They are both talented," Eleazar replies. "I think a demonstration would be more useful than just telling you."

Marcus looks wary. "I think you should give me an idea of what's going to happen first."

"It's all about emotions," Edward informs him. "He can't make you have any particular thoughts, but the feelings seem very real. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to show Marcus what you can do, Jasper?"

"What would you like to feel?" Jasper asks, still playing the same minor-key tune.

Marcus seems to hesitate for a moment, opening his mouth once, then shutting it again. After a few repetitions of this, Edward breaks the silence.

"_Pure, unadulterated joy_," he says, quoting one of Marcus' love letters to his murdered wife, Didyme. "_As if the sun burst through the clouds, _after a thousand years of darkness."

Marcus' eyes squeeze tight as the tune changes, from minor to major, though not any louder. Just brighter. My own chest aches; it is all too easy to slip into the fear that Edward will be taken from me as Didyme was taken. It is too much for me, and from the look of it, it's something between the most exquisite torture and the most unbearable bliss to Marcus. After a long moment, he opens his eyes.

"Stop this," Marcus hisses, and the music pauses as Jasper smiles guiltily.

"Sorry," he says. "Seemed like a nice enough way to demonstrate."

Marcus looks up, and I think that experiencing the imitation of joy might be painful to Marcus as smelling her perfume and finding her nowhere. It's as cruel- a mirage in the desert. His next words confirm my suspicions.

"She is not really here," he says to himself. His expression relaxes into its usual grimace, and he stares at Jasper warily. "Can you project any emotion?"

"Yes," Jasper says, the tune on the guitar going back to the delicate, sad tune again.

"And the music you play now, you can sense what others feel?"

Jasper hesitates, his voice thick with emotion when he finally speaks. "Yes."

"So you know what it feels like, at least for a moment."

"Yes, I do, and you have my sympathy. But it's not my reality," Jasper looks down at Alice, eyes shining. "A fact for which I am truly grateful."

"No, not reality," Marcus murmurs. "Damned close, but it's not the real thing."

"We have yet to find the limit to how many sentient creatures he can influence at once," Eleazar whispers, leaning in. "Seems a bit unfair, don't you think? For one vampire to be able to spread joy, or despair, or hate or apathy even?"

Marcus looks at all the vampires in the clearing, evidently taking in the possibilities.

"Do it. Make them all feel what you made me feel."

Jasper takes a deep breath and turns to the crowd. "Are you willing?"

Marcus reacts with surprise, and frowns in contemplation as vampires signal their general assent. Two older male vampires step away from the crowd.

"I think Balthazar and I would rather not," one of them says, and Jasper nods at them before playing the happy tune again.

As if following the notes, waves of emotion follow, complex and sweet, smooth and thick as honey. I feel...warmth, from inside, and a sudden joy as if everything good that's ever happened to me was happening at once: the sweetest music playing while Edward kisses me for the first and every time since as everyone I've ever loved embraces me-

"Oh," I hear someone sigh delightedly, and open my eyes. They all look like some renaissance painting of religious ecstasy. They all seem to glow.

"I'm sorry," Jasper says, as his fingers still over the strings, no longer touching. The final notes of his playing vibrate and fade like balloons disappearing into the night sky.

And then it's gone.

There are no words for the harshness of the contrast. All I can say is that the world seems wrong now, and I want nothing more than to ask him to do it again. I look around, and find my own sense of disbelief and, yes, loss, echoed on the faces of those around, save the two wise vampires who did not give consent.

"Unfair, perhaps," Marcus agrees thoughtfully. "But very useful."

"Oh indeed," Eleazar replies. "Aro could go with Jasper at his command. He wouldn't need Chelsea any longer to keep unwilling vampires around."

"Hold your tongue Eleazar," Marcus says, his tone firm. "I know what is whispered behind my back; I am not a fool."

"Certainly not," Edward says dryly. "Which is why Aro trusts you to come here alone."

Marcus arches one black eyebrow in response before nodding at Alice. "And you, my dear? Everyone is so attached to you in the most unusual way, their desires flutter around you like ribbons in the wind. Has Aro guessed right then? Can you see what will happen?"

"The future isn't set in stone," she says, tilting her head as she stands and approaches. "It changes whenever someone makes a decision. If they make one. Your Aro seems to have been finding holes in my vision lately."

"So show me something."

"You won't believe unless it comes from you," she says reasonably. "Go ahead, surprise me."

Marcus eyes her speculatively. "Close your eyes, little one."

She closes her eyes and, after a short pause, reaches her hand out an instant before Marcus throws something shiny toward the fire. She catches it, eyes still closed, and holds it close to her heart before handing it back to him.

"You'd be very sad if you lost this ring," she says, letting the yellow-gold circle fall back into his outstretched hand. "I'm surprised you risked it."

"Impressive."

"Just imagine Aro with the four of them," Eleazar whispers to Marcus, sweeping his hand between Jasper, Alice, Edward and me. "Assuming they can be controlled. But then, Aro has his ways, doesn't he? He usually gets what he wants in the end, somehow. Even if he has to sacrifice someone."

Marcus' expression hardens, as Jasper puts his guitar aside and stands beside his wife.

"This doesn't change anything," Marcus says, squaring his shoulders. "I don't suppose I can talk you into coming along peacefully, can I?"

"Do you really want us to?" Alice asks. "I can't help but notice that you keep changing your mind. Why?"

"This lack of privacy is unsettling," he responds. "But nothing has changed. You cannot imagine that my mind is so easily swayed, no matter how many possibilities I momentarily entertain. I am Volturi, and we keep the peace."

"Peace," says Alice. "There are different paths to very different kinds of peace."

"There are other possibilities, Marcus," Edward says. "We could just be left alone."

"And _you _of all people know that's not very likely." Marcus shakes his head slowly. "No, your way is not our way."

"So why are you here alone?" Edward asks. Everyone's attention focuses on Marcus.

Marcus ignores him for a moment, and looks around appraisingly. "You really do have something like a family here. It is beautiful, the way you love each other. There is no reason you can't bring that with you, make things better for everyone."

"What would she want?" I ask, trying to imagine what Marcus could see with his talent for seeing relationships. "Would Didyme leave us alone, or drag us back to Aro?"

Marcus flinches at the sound of her name, but smiles, as if through a haze of fresh pain.

"Of course," Carlisle says. "You told me where to find Eleazar when I left. You did it for her memory, didn't you?"

"It's why you persuaded Aro and Caius to let Eleazar go," Edward continues, wonderingly. "You wanted to honor her dream, didn't you? You wanted there to be a place, a group of vampires living as she wanted to live, so you did what you could to facilitate that."

"It was all I could do for her," he murmurs. "I couldn't save her, or avenge her death. Aro had done that for me."

"You still believe that?" Eleazar asks.

"I have to," Marcus says, holding up a hand in front of his eyes, as if warding off harsh sunlight. "You don't understand. You don't know how he loved her. She was his human sister, and he changed her because he couldn't imagine life without her. He changed me to keep her from hating him. He wouldn't have killed her."

"Not even if she was going to leave, and take you with her?" Edward presses. "You know how possessive he is. You've witnessed the way he loves and how it can turn deadly. You've seen it more than once, I can see it too."

"Enough of this," Marcus says grimly, addressing us as a group with a chilling finality. "If I were you, I would present yourself to Aro voluntarily, and spare us any more unnecessary drama. Surely you can see the wisdom in that."

"Imagine Aro with no limits," Eleazar insists. "What if Edward is right?"

Marcus stares at him before speaking again, his words carrying through the night air loud enough for all to hear.

"I repeat, enough. The Volturi have stood for stability for millennia. Do not think that you can change that by planting a few seeds of doubt."

"We didn't plant those seeds," Edward says. "You've felt it for a long time."

Silence hangs in the air, a heavy curtain of hesitation.

"A moment of doubt compared to thousands of years," Marcus finally says. "No, no. I won't listen to another word of such things unless I hear it from Aro himself."

As soon as the last words escape his lips, he dissolves into a silvery blur, disappearing into the darkness.

Alice straightens, her gaze goes vacant before it sharpens back into focus. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curl into a sad smile.

"Hear it from Aro himself?" she muses. "I think that might be arranged."

**~oЖo~**


End file.
